She's Out of Her Mind
by BeneficialAddiction
Summary: When Willow resurrects Buffy, she doesn't come back numb, she comes back nuts! Racing to find a cure for their friend, the Scoobies quickly realize that they have no idea how to control or care for an insane Slayer, and must turn to the person they've spent all summer ignoring and alienating, the one person they know with over a century of crazy under his belt
1. Chapter 1

Out of sight, out of mind. That seemed to be the mantra of the Scoobies these days. And it seemed to be working for them. The whelp, the witch, even the watcher, they were all blind. Blind to the pain he so desperately tried to push through every day, blind to the help he tried to give in her memory. Worse, blind to the Bit, and all the problems that had started to pile up around the young girl now that her sister was…

Spike couldn't say it. Couldn't think it. Four months, and he still couldn't bring himself to face it. If the Slayerettes' mantra was 'out of sight, out of mind,' then Spike's was 'absence makes the heart grow fonder.' Every time the sun fell, every time Spike was dragged awake with hope burning in his throat that his dreams were a reality and he had really done it this time, really saved her, it crushed him anew. But his love for her never lessened.

In the early days he had prayed, had begged to forget her, but the guilt was too much for even him to bear. He deserved the pain, deserved to have her live in his dead heart forever where he could never quite reach her. He had failed, and this was his punishment. And so he would take his lashes… but he would also do his penance. He had made a promise, and he would keep it.

'_Dammit, I'm trying_,' Spike thought angrily as he tipped up the vodka bottle and loosened his throat, letting copious amounts of the alcohol burn its way down into his stomach.

His buggering habit of unnecessary breathing surfaced, and he slammed the bottle back down to the bar, giving himself a chance to inhale. Willy had been keeping a fearful eye on the vampire, and scurried over to replace the bottle that Spike had almost drained in a single gulp, but he waved him off. Hooking the bottle with his fingers, he dropped a ten spot on the bar and ducked out, heading back to his crypt. The night was young yet, but all Spike wanted was to disappear; into the dark, into himself, into the last two inches of Everclear in his fist.

When the Scoobies had driven him off earlier that night, _again_, he'd headed straight for the demon bar with every intention of spending his evening getting completely sloshed. Bloody creature of habit he was; every afternoon for the past three weeks Spike would visit Dawn, risking the sun so that the girl wouldn't be alone when she got home from school. Tara would come along a few hours after dark, and while she, and even Anya sometimes, were willing to let his presence slide, even seemed to _appreciate_ him being there, they almost always brought along the rest, and they weren't so forgiving. Sometimes it was open violence, Xander jerking him up from the couch and pushing him out the door; other times it was words, biting at him, cutting deep when Dawn couldn't hear.

But mostly it was ignoring him. Turning a blind eye to the way the Bit's homework was always finished, to the appearance of groceries in the refrigerator and the availability of clean towels in the cabinets. Pretending he wasn't there. Tara would cast him sorrowful looks, Anya would glare at her boyfriend, occasionally Dawn would throw a tantrum, but it didn't matter. Blind eyes, deaf ears, moving around him like he was no more than occupied air. And that was the worst. Nothing made him flee that house more quickly than being treated like a thing; a lamp, a chair, a scratch in the hardwood.

So off to Willy's he would run, shoulders hunched, chin tucked to his chest, the collar of his duster turned up. He held himself differently these days. Spike wanted nothing more than to fade, to pass unnoticed through the night that he once ruled. The only reason it hurt so much with the others was because of her. They were her friends, her inner sanctum, and as much as he hated them, they were the only pieces of her that he had left. That, and he had promised her that he would watch after her sister. And he was trying. But they made it damn difficult.

Turning into the cemetery, Spike quickly finished off his bottle and pitched it hard against the side of a granite headstone, strangely pleased with the shower of sparks that the shattering glass created. Pausing outside the door of his crypt, he lit a cigarette and stared up at the moon, glowing away in the sky with a cold kind of light. It was almost full. Tipping his head back, he exhaled a deep lungful of smoke.

'_Was this what the stars meant Dru_?' he wondered to himself. '_That I would fade, burn up from the inside out till there was nothing left but ash_?' Strange that it was the loss of her, the disappearance of his sun, that would do it. Staring at the smoke, which curled up towards the hundreds of stars scattered above him, he let regret take him.

Regret. For letting the Scoobies chase him from his duty. For spending every night at Willy's drinking away money that could go to helping Dawn. For leaving tonight with only one bottle in his gut, not enough for more than a soft buzz on his empty stomach. For letting this happen. Letting William's soft underbelly show to Buffy and her friends, and for stopping Spike from tearing out all their throats. But most of all, for not saving her.

Grinding his cigarette out on the heel of his boot, he pushed inside his crypt and felt an immense relief as the starts winked out of site, free from their oppressive gaze. They made him shudder anymore, made him cringe. They were part of the reason for his new posture; the way he would slink through the streets, hunched, hissing in the face of their cold stares as a cat to water. Crossing the crypt, he headed deeper, down into the lower levels to scrounge up a half empty bottle of whiskey before returning topside again. Flipping on the television just to have the background noise, he dropped into a chair and threw his legs up over the arm, slouching down low in the cushions.

"It's not fair," he mumbled, using his teeth to pry the cap off the bottle before spitting it onto the floor. "I'm doin' everything right and it's like 'm bloody not even there."

Sulking in his armchair, Spike finished off the bottle, letting the whiskey burn its way through him while he grumbled and cursed under his breath. He should've just stayed put in the demon bar, but the Scoobies had really gotten to him tonight. Willow, Xander, Anya, and Tara has all come waltzing in at around ten o'clock, just before he was about to send Dawn to bed. Completely ignoring his presence, Willow began to tell Dawn that they would be gone that weekend, though she refused to say why, hemming and hawing in a manner most unlike her. Spike had eyed the red-headed witch with suspicion, but in the end assumed they would be off doing some kind of demon hunting and just wanted to keep Dawn out of it. Strange that they weren't letting him in on it though. Spike might've dwelled on that but he had been too pissed at the time; still was in fact. Now he was just pissed of a different color.

Dawn had been hurt of course, and angry at the cavalier treatment she was receiving. That had been building for a long time, most of the summer in fact, and Spike was just waiting for the tiny teen to blow her top and bite all of their heads off. He was looking forward to that day. Not that he was encouraging it mind. More concerning was that she had seemed almost frightened, afraid to be alone in the empty house all weekend. He had taken a step towards her, assuring her that he would be around, not a part of the Scooby mission this time, but when Dawn had then pleaded with Spike to just sleep over for the weekend, Xander had gone on the attack.

All summer, Spike had let himself be man handled, pulled away from Dawn and pushed towards the door. It didn't even really sting his pride anymore he was so used to it. If he got close, they pulled him away; that was how it worked. But tonight? Tonight it had angered him. If they didn't want to spend time with Dawn, that was fine, but apparently they'd rather she be alone than with him. So when Xander had grabbed Spike's arm and jerked him towards the door, Spike had hit back, snapping out a fist and putting a solid hit into his ribs, forcing him to let go and spin back towards the wall.

Xander kept his feet. Spike didn't. The pain from his chip had taken him down to one knee, cursing all the way, hands clutching at his temples in a futile attempt to control the shocks. Dawn had immediately started yelling at Xander, demanding he keep his hands to himself. The argument had been made many, many times… it head yet to sink in. Spike had begged her to stop shouting, her shrill voice ringing through his head. She had instantly fallen silent, helping to pull him to his feet and tittering worriedly. Tara had stepped forward and helped too, her hands gentle on his arm as she reassured Spike that she would stay with Dawn. Spike had nodded and hugged Dawn close, promising in her ear that he would be there, regardless.

And he would. Till the End of the World. That had been his promise.

"Till the end of the world," he muttered. And then he was finally, blissfully asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

"We just have one piece left," Willow assured Xander as they leaned over Anya's shoulder, watching her work a laptop's keyboard.

"That one." Pushing the screen back so they could see the screen, Anya pointed to a ceramic container. "It's called the Urn of Osiris. This is the only one I've been able to find. Like, in the _world_. It was in Cairo, but I've gotten it shipped as far as Santa Monica. "

"If we drive down to pick it up in the morning, we'll be back in time to do the spell tomorrow night," Willow said.

"Ok," Xander sighed. "We'll leave tomorrow morning. I can drive and we can pool our cash for the jar."

"It's an _urn_," Willow corrected indignantly.

"Not my cash?" Anya asked in a startled voice. Willow and Xander turned disappointed looks on her, and she rushed to defend herself. "I miss Buffy too, but, are we actually doing this? This is dark magic! The kind that has a cost! And believe me, the costs are never good. I mean, are we sure this is the right thing?"

"It's the right thing!" Willow declared, anger evident in her tone. "I _won't_ leave Buffy in that hell dimension."

A flash in the witch's eyes prevented Anya from speaking out again. She moved away from the Summers' dining table and into the living room, where there was a row of pictures placed along a ledge on the wall. Reaching out a hand, she touched the frame the one in the center, a picture of both the girls and their mother.

Anya did miss Buffy. She had become… well she supposed you could say she had become a friend. At the very least she was a friend of Xander, and that made her important to Anya. And even though Xander seemed to still want Buffy to give him orgasms, the ex-demon did wish that Buffy would come back. Even after experiencing the deaths of two people who had been close to her, she still didn't understand why they were just gone.

After Joyce's death, Anya had tried to ask Xander about it, but he had angrily pushed her questions away. She had then gone to Giles, who had directed her to certain books, including the Bible. She didn't think religion had any bearing on death, but these concepts of heaven and hell seemed mostly connected with Christianity. From all her studying, Anya couldn't comprehend why Willow expected Buffy to be in Hell. Good people were supposed to end up in Heaven.

Anya shook her head. She must not understand the concepts correctly.

"Ready to go Ahn?" Xander asked, coming out of the dining room.

Looking beyond him, Anya saw Willow packing up her laptop. She nodded to Xander and pulled on her jacket, moving towards the door. Xander called out a soft goodbye to Willow so as not to wake Dawn or Tara who slept upstairs, but Anya stayed silent, pulling her coat more tightly around her as a shiver went down her spine. She could feel Willow's power growing, and it scared her. When she had been a demon, her power was controlled and channeled by D'Hoffryn and her pendant. Willow's power was neither. She had wanted to talk to Spike about it earlier; as a vampire he was sure to feel it too. But when Dawn had asked him to stay the weekend, Xander had gone off again and forced him out of the house, just one more thing that Anya couldn't understand. Spike was a valuable asset, and obviously loved Dawn dearly. Why not let him keep her safe?

For a while Anya was quiet, even though it was hard, waiting until they had gotten into the car and Xander had pulled away from the curb. Watching his face in the glow of the dash lights, Anya could see just how much pain Buffy's death had brought him. For the first time, she actually had to work up the courage to speak her mind. And to her boyfriend!

"Xander?" she began. "Why do you think Buffy's in hell? Shouldn't she have gone to heaven? If she was a good person?"

Xander sighed heavily, running a hand over his face. It was clear that he didn't want to talk. "Look Ahn," he said, keeping his eyes on the road, "Willow says that Glory's portal took Buffy's soul to hell. We can't leave her there."

"And how would Willow know?" Anya snapped, her frustration quickly showing through.

"Hey," Xander said sharply, his eyes snapping over to her before they went back to the road, "If Willow says she knows, she knows. We've been friends for forever! Why would she lie?"

"Even if she's right," Anya sulked, slumping lower in her seat, "I don't think this is a good idea. Willow's inexperienced, and Xander, this is a serious spell! We're talking about resurrection! There are so many things that could go wrong…"

"Anya, enough!" Xander barked, raising his voice loudly inside the enclosed car. "What's up with all the Willow hate? She knows what she's doing ok? What is with you? You sound like you don't even want Buffy back!"

Anya's mouth fell open in horror at the accusation, tears flooding her eyes. Turning away from her boyfriend, she faced the window and let them fall. They were silent for the rest of the ride.

* * *

Spike woke up in the early afternoon with a crick in his neck and one hell of a hangover. The dregs of his whiskey had spilled over his chest in the night, the bottle now wedged between his hip and the side of the arm chair. Standing slowly, he waited until the spinning in his head had stopped before pulling off his musty, sticky t-shirt and heading down to the shower he had jerry-rigged in the back of the lower level.

He ran the water cold, standing with his face directly under the spray in the hopes that it would help. It didn't. Soaping the whiskey off his chest, he tried to ignore the way his ribs stuck out like rungs on a ladder, his stomach no long flat and defined, but concave between sharp hipbones. Stepping out of the shower, he toweled off roughly and quickly dressed, his belt buckle cinching three holes tighter than normal. Back upstairs, he shrugged into his duster and went to retrieve his blanket from where he had draped it over a sarcophagus. The sight of his refrigerator stopped him cold.

He should eat. He knew that. He couldn't remember when he'd last had a regular feed.

Spike scoffed at himself.

Of course he remembered. He knew exactly when he had begun to lose the muscle mass, began to starve himself. When the sight of blood began to make him nauseas, when it began to give him goosebumps and made him feel an intense self-hatred, an overwhelming sense of failure. Animal or human, it all was all the same, forcing him to remember that night, making him think of the Bit's blood spilling into the portal and Buffy's blood spilling onto the ground from her broken body.

He wasn't so worried about himself. He could care less what happened to him. But he had to be able to protect the Niblet. Not feeding meant he was weaker; case in point his hangover this afternoon. A bottle and a half would've hardly put him down before, but with a quarter of his body weight gone and nothing else for his advanced metabolism to work at, his head was pounding.

He should eat. He reached a hand out towards the door of the fridge, but just the thought of pouring the thick, viscous liquid down his throat made him gag. No. He was fine. He could wait. Eventually his demon would take over and his body would go on autopilot, seeking to feed itself. He just had to wait. The chip would keep the happy meals safe, and he wouldn't have to experience the blood. He was still standing wasn't he? Had even managed to give the whelp a good smack last night. So he was fine.

Tucking his blanket under his arm, he headed for the sewer tunnels.


	3. Chapter 3

Spike managed to make it to the Summers' house without incident. He was smoking a little more than usual, but nothing too serious. Dawn greeted him at the door with a hug, taking his blanket and folding it up neatly, draping it over the banister. He could hear Tara clattering around in the kitchen, so he hung his duster up on a coat hook and followed the Bit into the dimmed house. They had closed the blinds in anticipation of his arrival. At least these two counted on him.

"Wow," Spike commented, taking in the sight of a countertop covered in pots and pans, boxes, knives and spoons. "What are you building Glinda? The Great Wall?"

Tara smiled, happy enough to have Spike teasing her if only it took the deep purple sorrow out of his aura for just a moment. "Nope," she replied, shaking a mostly-empty box of noodles at him. "Lasagna."

"I helped make the sauce," Dawn said, taking a glass baking dish from a cupboard and placing it on the island. "Now we just gotta build it and put it in the oven."

"Well, smells good enough," Spike said, taking a sniff over the pot of bubbling red. A shiver went down his spine, but he pushed it away, hiding it from the girls. "No um… special ingredients this time?"

"Hey!" Dawn cried indignantly. "That was one time! And I learned my lesson didn't I? No more cinnamon for this girl, not even for cinnamon toast."

Spike gave her a smile and a one-armed hug, silently letting her know that he had forgiven her for last month's spice debacle before moving around to the other side of the island and taking a seat. For a while he listened quietly, watching while Dawn and Tara layered sauce, noodles, cheese, and crumbled sausage into the baking dish. The girls chatted idly about nothing, carefully avoiding certain topics by habit. Finishing off their creation, Tara hefted the dish and popped it into the oven beside a pan of garlic bread.

"Well," Dawn said, all too innocently, "I think I'll just go grab my books. Get my homework out of the way."

Spike cocked an eyebrow. "Homework huh? On a Saturday?"

"What?" she asked indignantly. "I'll do it down here! _Someone _promised to help me with my English." Darting out of the room, the teenager disappeared up the stairs.

"No worries Glinda," Spike groaned, dragging himself up from his stool. "_I_ won't jump ship. Help you do up this mess."

"You don't have to do that Spike," Tara said softly, moving an armload of pots to the side of the sink and turning on the tap.

"_Want_ to," he insisted, adding a squeeze of blue dish soap and watching the bubbles expand. "Have it done up in a mo.' Easy fix."

Tara seemed to recognize that he was speaking of more than just cleaning up the kitchen, and wisely chose to remain silent, instead offering her support by simply standing close at his side, rinsing the dishes as he handed them off to her one by one. She had seldom regretted her ability to see people's auras. Being so terribly shy, she often used it to gauge social situations, and it had stood her in good stead through the years, helping her to know how to respond to others. That was the case now. She could see the sadness in Spike, the depression, the guilt, the regret; all the worst emotions, swirling sluggishly in a fixed pattern, indicating how deeply they were carved into the vampire's psyche, his very being. More frightening than that was the pale gray that swirled around him in silky wisps, indicating acceptance. As if Spike felt he deserved all of the mistreatment, all of the self-castigation, all of the pain.

Tara was a healer. Her magic was earth based, and much of it centered around growth and the soothing of inner pain. She could feel her soul reaching out to Spike, wanting to offer him comfort, or at the very least relief, but she simply didn't know how.

"You all right there Glinda?" he asked, pulling her out of her thoughts. "Awfully quiet."

"Oh just… w,w,wondering what Willow and the others are d,d,doing," she stammered, lying because she knew that voicing the truth would just cause him more pain.

"Yeah," he replied, pulling the plug from the drain and letting the water out. "Was wondering that myself."

"Wondering what?" Dawn asked, cascading an armful of books onto the island.

"What got you distracted," Spike said, a snarky grin making an appearance. "You've got beautiful timing Bit. Dishes all finished up and here you are."

"I couldn't find my math book," the girl replied primly.

"Uh huh."

Tara looked between the two and smiled. Spike's aura had calmed, the deep colors paling out a bit. It wasn't much, but it was enough for her to notice. As she wiped down the counters and adjusted the heat on the oven, she kept sneaking little glances out the corner of her eye as the vampire sat down next to the teenager and began outlining passages from a volume of Shakespeare. The simple presence of the girl seemed enough to lighten the load on his shoulders. Determination flooded her, and she decided that when Willow got back from wherever she was, they were going to have a talk.

* * *

Dishes finished, Tara had retreated to the basement to run a load of laundry. Spike had offered to help, but she had insisted on doing it herself. He often leant a hand with the chores when Willow and Xander allowed, but the witch seemed to be in a strange sort of funk that she needed to work through, so Spike let her alone. He had helped Dawn to finish up her homework and then moved to the living room, waiting patiently while she dug up a well-used pack of cards. It had been discovered that she was a rather adept hand, and Spike, who knew that Buffy wouldn't appreciate him teaching her younger sister how to gamble, was constantly searching for new games to teach her that didn't involve any sort of betting. Funny, how he was still afraid of the consequences of upsetting her… even now.

Spike rubbed the bridge of his nose, a move which Dawn watched with suspicion, aware of how much the vampire liked to cheat. Her favorite of all their games was Snap, his BS, but since Tara had opted out of the game Dawn had won the draw. They had been at war for about half an hour, and Spike only had five cards left when Tara emerged from the basement stairwell. Dropping her laundry basket off at the bottom of the stairs, she headed back into the kitchen, a wave of hot air bringing him the scent of tomatoes, cheese, and garlic.

"Mmm, food time!" Dawn smiled, scattering her cards across the coffee table.

Spike laughed. "Hungry Bit? Or just glad you're not about to have it handed to you?"

Dawn stuck her tongue out at him and ran into the kitchen, Spike close on her heels. Tara was just setting the browned and bubbling pan of lasagna on the center island, carefully running the blade of a knife around the edges. Cutting a big square for Dawn and herself, she gestured in Spike's direction.

"Want some?" she asked.

"Eh. No thanks luv."

"Oh Goddess," she gasped, raising a hand to her mouth as her eyes widened. "I forgot. The garlic!"

Spike chuckled. "Just a myth. Tasty stuff though. Does wonders for the breath."

"You've been here all day," Dawn mumbled around a mouthful of noodles. "You're not hungry?"

"Nah. I'm fine."

Jumping up, Dawn ran to the refrigerator. "We got some blood in here somewhere," she said. "I'll heat you up some."

"I said I'm fine!" Spike snapped.

The hurt that flashed over Dawn's face almost killed him. The kitchen had gone horribly silent, Tara looking down at her plate and Dawn looking at anything but him. Rubbing his hands hard over his face, he sighed heavily.

"Bloody hell. I'm sorry Niblet," he apologized, shame clear on his face as he dropped his eyes to the table in front of him. "Didn't mean to bark at you."

The silence continued for a moment before Dawn spoke, her tone forgiving.

"You're bite's worse."

"How would you know?" he asked. There was a smile in his voice, a thankfulness for being absolved of his transgression.

Satisfied that the playful banter meant they were friends again, Dawn left the refrigerator and came back to sit at his side again, further evidence that she didn't hold his lashing out at her against him. She sulked when she was holding a grudge. Picking up her fork, she went back to her lasagna.

"Spike?" Tara asked softly from across the island, "You're ok right?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Just… got a headache."

"It's not your chip is it?"

"Not the chip Glinda. Just a regular headache."

Dawn had looked up at the mentioning of his chip, concern flashing in her eyes. Spike hated to see it, so in a bid to banish the look, he flashed out a hand and snagged her garlic bread off her plate. Taking a big bite, he grinned smugly at her and Tara.

"See?" he said. "No melting."

"Just bad breath," Dawn quipped, waving a hand under her nose.

Narrowing his eyes, Spike blew a stream of said garlic-breath in her direction, setting off a squeal and a giggle that he prayed he would hear more often.


	4. Chapter 4

Yawning, Spike gave a long, slow stretch, gently dislodging Dawn from his side. They were only halfway through the movie the Bit had picked out, but Spike had been bored from the beginning. Corralled onto the couch between the two girls, Dawn had curled up under his left arm and was halfway to the land of nod. Tara sat on his right, her feet tucked underneath her, close enough that her shoulder brushed his. He was warm and comfortable slouched low in the couch cushions, his boots propped on the coffee table, enfolded on either side by the silent yet comfortable presence of two people who trusted him and appreciated him. In that moment, Spike felt something close to cared for.

But of course it couldn't last.

The front door banged open and the remaining members of the Scoobies came piling in, announcing their presence loudly, bringing a gust of tension into the living room with them. Xander immediately zeroed in on Spike's position on the couch and took a step forward. In an effort to save Dawn a good jostle, he slid the popcorn bowl out of the way of his feet and reluctantly untangled himself.

"Thought we told you not to bother showing up bleach boy!" he snapped.

Spike heaved his shoulders in an exasperated sigh. He felt emotionally battered tonight, physically exhausted, and he quite simply could not bring himself to care about the whelp's jabs. Grabbing his duster from the coat hook, he moved towards the door.

"It's fine Xander," Tara said, standing from her position on the couch. "We asked him to stay while you were gone."

" 'S all right Glinda," Spike interjected, taking a step towards Tara. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he lowered his voice. "Don't want you fighting your friends for me luv," he murmured. " 'M not worth it."

He saw a flash of pain cross Tara's face, but it was gone in a second, settling into determination. "Spike," she said firmly, "that's _not_…"

"You're not leaving are you?" Dawn broke in, sitting up sleepily. The raised voices had pulled her fully awake, and now she was staring at his coat in dismay, Willow, Anya, and Xander completely ignored.

"Gotta run a patrol anyway Bit," Spike smiled softly.

"But you'll come back?"

He hesitated, his eyes uncertain, flicking over the small group of teens who stood against him.

"No reason for him to be here. We're back. So the chipped wonder can hit the trail."

Dawn glared at Xander with surprising venom for a girl who'd been drooling over the couch arms only a few minutes before. To Spike's surprise, she leapt up from the couch and marched over, grabbing him around the middle and hugging him as tightly as her skinny, teenaged arms would allow. Burying her face in his chest, she held him close.

"Don't leave," she whispered. Her voice was cracking in a way that made Spike's un-beating heart break. . "Please," she begged. "Don't ever."

Placing a finger under her chin, he lifted her face to his and smoothed away a tear. "Never luv," he murmured. "Long as you want me, I'll be there. But I think it's best if I take off for tonight. Don't wanna start anything." She nodded sadly and he pressed a kiss to her forehead, ignoring Xander's grumble. "You're friends are here, they'll stay with you. Why don't you head on up to bed?"

"It's eight thirty!" Dawn rolled her eyes.

"I know," he chuckled, ruffling her hair, glad that he had gotten a rise out of her. "Come by and see you tomorrow ok?"

"Ok."

Stepping out onto the porch, Spike lit a cigarette and waited for his ire to rise, but it didn't come. Apathy had fallen over him, and the only solution he knew for that kind of thing was to go kill something. Stamping out what was left of his smoke, he started his loop, headed north towards the cemeteries.

* * *

Tara watched sadly as Dawn climbed the stairs and quietly closed her bedroom door behind her. She had been having a fairly nice night after deciding that she needed to stand up for herself and Spike; after dinner she had played a few hands of cards with them, and then they had all landed on the couch to watch a movie. It had been quite cozy, and Tara had been only moments from following Dawn's example, leaning over and making herself comfortable on her friend's shoulder when Willow, Xander, and Anya had returned. The mood had immediately soured, the gray and purple wisps of sorrow and acceptance wrapping Spike up like choking vine. As was customary, Xander had instantly gone on the offensive, all but shoving Spike out of the house, making him feel unwanted and unworthy. Worse was the way that Willow had stood by and watched with an air of agreement while her friend berated the vampire, even after Tara had expressed her desire that he stay.

Giving her girlfriend a look that broadcasted her full disappointment, she retreated to the kitchen, Willow hot on her heels.

"What's wrong?" she asked. "Did Spike do something…?"

Tara held up a hand, effectively silencing her. Shock and surprise showed on Willow's face; she wasn't accustomed to Tara asserting herself… at least not outside of the bedroom.

"Of course he didn't," she spoke softly. "But sweetie we need to talk. You need to ease up on Spike." Willow's face instantly darkened, and she opened her mouth to protest, but Tara kept talking. "No, it's true. Xander tries to pick a fight with him every time they're together. You all either ignore him or attack him whenever he's around. You can't see his aura like I can; you don't know what he's going through."

"What he's going through?" Willow hissed. Her eyes were flashing and Tara felt herself shrinking back from the anger that her girlfriend was showing. She hadn't expected this reaction when she had begun; she had only wanted to try and explain. "What about what _we're_ going through? We lost our best friend! What did he lose? His obsession? So what! He'll move on to another one any day, and leave us all high and dry. Me and Xander and Anya are trying to _fix_ things. We're patrolling, we're keeping Sunnydale safe, we're trying to bring…" Willow abruptly stopped herself, and Tara went cold.

"Willow, where were you today?"

"Working on a demon thing," she said flatly, standing and walking to the sink, showing Tara her back.

"What demon?"

"Does it matter?" she snapped.

"Yes! There's something you're not telling me."

"Tara, baby, it's fine. There's nothing you need to worry about."

"You didn't answer my question. Don't you trust me?"

Willow was silent, keeping her eyes on the kitchen window, her shoulders tense. Tara went cold. She could feel the distance between them like a knife. After everything they had been through together, the love between them, it was coming down to this. Was it her fault? Had she done this? Brought it on by pushing too hard, by asking her to accept Spike?

"I should go," she said, suddenly fearful that all trust between them was crumbling away.

"What?" Willow cried, whipping around.

"I… I should g,g,go."

"You're just gonna leave?" The fear of a small child had entered Willow's voice, and it broke Tara's heart, but the fact that she was hiding something, unwilling to listen, _lying_ to her, had Tara horrified.

"I think it w,w,would be b,b,best," she said, a tremor in her voice. "If you don't think you can't t,t,trust me, can't t,t,talk to me, then I think I should go."

"Where are you gonna go?" Willow croaked, her voice as shaky as Tara's.

"There's a friend I can stay with on campus," Tara murmured, walking towards the door. Tears stung her eyes, and she turned back to the love of her life with pain evident in her whole being. "I don't want to leave it this way baby," she said, "But I can tell there's something wrong. When you want to tell me what it is, please call me. I don't want to leave it this way." Holding back a sob, she headed for the front door.

* * *

"Hey Will, where's Tara headed?" Xander asked, coming into the kitchen with Anya. "She just walked out the door. He seemed to notice Willow's stillness, the pallor of her face, the horror on it, and he touched a hand to her arm in concern.

"She… she uh…" Willow swallowed hard. "She had to go back to campus for the night. Something came up."

"Oh. What about Dawn though? Tara was gonna watch her while we…"

Silence reigned for a moment as the three young people stood around the kitchen island, all unsure of how to proceed. They had plans for this night, but Tara's absence had shaken them, Willow most of all.

"We have to go," Anya announced. "It's the last night of the full moon. I helped pay for the urn with my money; we are not going to waste it!"

"But what about Dawn?" Xander asked again. "She's sleeping upstairs…"

"She'll be fine," Anya said. "She's not a kid."

Xander started to protest, but Willow cut him off.

"She's right. We have to do this tonight."

"Wills, you sure? You're not looking so good."

"Are you backing out of this Xander?" Willow snapped, anger suddenly present in her voice. "I thought we agreed; this was the plan." She lowered her voice to a nasty hiss. "Don't you _want_ Buffy back?"

Hurt flashed over Xander's face. "That's not fair Willow," he said. "You know I do."

Anya wrapped an arm through his, keeping a careful eye on the witch. "Let's just go," she said softly. "Get the stuff; we'll lock the door and be back before Dawn wakes up."

Willow continued to glare at Xander for a moment, then broke off with a nod and collected her bag from where she had placed it carefully near the doorway to the kitchen. Everything she needed for the spell was inside, and then some. She was ready and capable of doing this. She was going to bring back the Slayer.


	5. Chapter 5

Sunnydale cemeteries hadn't disappointed this night. A full moon glowed down on Spike as he ripped, slashed, punched, and staked his way around the city limits, dusting vampires and slaughtering two demons in a sullen but dedicated manner. The world had not seen his enjoyment of violence in a good while, his jones for a fight long gone. A few of his victims had tried to bargain with him, some had argued, others had just tried to run, but Spike dispatched them all efficiently and without mercy.

Demon activity had been unsteady lately; some nights it was as silent as death in town, as if they weren't all living atop that dormant volcano that was the Hellmouth. Other nights he had a hard time keeping up, demons and vampires out in mass exodus. A low drumbeat of sensation across the back of his neck and shoulders told him that something was building, had been for a while, and he only hoped that whatever Big Bad was coming, they could find a way to beat it alone.

He had come almost full circle now, working his way through the graveyards one by one until there was only one left. Hers. Spike had visited her often in these last five months. On those nights when he felt most alone in the world, when the stars stared down at him with cold disdain, he would go to her, curling against her headstone and holding long, one-sided conversations until the sun began to sting at his skin. At first he wasn't sure if Buffy would've appreciated his company, but Dawn couldn't bring herself to visit, the Scoobies seemed to stop caring, and the great Poof had _never_ come down from his kingdom in LA, so he came to the conclusion that she must be as lonely as he was.

It was excruciatingly painful to see her name carved into that stone. On mornings after, Spike often ran from the sun with a heavy heart and a stinging in his eyes, but for the night it was enough just to feel close to her, to close his eyes as he spoke and pretend that she might answer back. Tonight was one of those nights; when he craved her presence, wished with everything he was that she was there to punch him in the nose, or to tell him off for following her around. Anything. As long as she was there. Deciding that it would be worth the heartache, he turned down a side street and headed towards her cemetery.

His mind was well occupied as he walked, turning over the events of the night so far; Tara's strange mood and her defense of him, his snapping at Dawn and her immediate forgiveness and understanding, the strange behavior of the Scoobies. Spike felt like his world was falling apart, that he was being forced to live in a new plane of existence that would have him entirely isolated, but still anxious about the safety of those he cared for. He'd like to believe that the group would take good care of Dawn if he were gone, but that didn't mean that he trusted them. Willow especially seemed to be getting a taste of power, a sense of entitlement that was…

Spike stopped dead in his tracks, the wrought-iron fencing that surrounded Buffy's cemetery just in sight over the edge of a rise in the street. Lifting his head, he took a few open-mouthed sniffs, tasting the air. What the hell? Willow had been here. Xander and Anya too. Not long ago either, judging by the strength of the scent. Spike felt his game face break through, anger flooding him as he let out a vicious snarl. They had said they would stay with her! They had made him leave because they were back, and they turn right back around and leave her?!

Five months ago, Spike would've followed them; tracked them down and bitten their heads off, figuratively if not literally. He wasn't the same person now. He knew what it felt like to be alone, to have your world taken away, and that was how Dawn was feeling; abandoned in a big empty house that only reminded you of the people who were supposed to be filling it. Turning on his heel, he broke into a run.

* * *

Dawn waited until she heard the front door close and Xander's car pull away from the curb before she poked her heard out of her bedroom. She'd heard the end of Tara and Willow's fight and had almost come down to stop Tara's leaving, but had thought better of it. Dawn loved Willow, but the witch had changed in the last few months, getting angry more quickly, especially when someone questioned her magic. On top of that, she had decided that she was the new boss in the Summers' house. When she wasn't gone, she either ignored Dawn or ordered her around, like she was her mom. Of course, Dawn took every opportunity to snark at and disobey her that she could find, resenting the way she was treating her and at the same time wishing that things would just go back to normal.

Listening hard, Dawn determined that they really had gone. The weird shiver she got on those rare occasions when she was alone in the house rolled over her forearms, and she ducked back into her closet for a sweater before slowly traipsing down the stairs to the living room. Curling up in an armchair, she stared at the blank screen of the television. She'd had her ear pressed to her door long enough to catch most of the conversation between Willow, Xander, and Anya, but not long enough to know where they had gone, or how long they'd be away. She frowned. If they were going to leave, they could've let Spike stay! Did they _want _her to be alone?

Leaping from her chair, she lashed out and kicked the leg of the coffee table. A strangled sob broke from her, and she clutched her foot while tears coursed down her cheeks, half from pain, half from sorrow. They blamed her. They didn't say it, but Dawn knew. It was her fault Buffy was gone. It should've been her that died; it was her blood that opened the portal, it should have been her death that closed it. She knew it, they must know it too. Why else were they avoiding her, why else had they grown so cold?

As she knelt on the floor crying into her hands, the memory of Spike's voice echoed in her ears. The night of Buffy's burial, Dawn had snuck out of the house to go back to her grave at dusk, the second and last time she could bring herself to go. Earlier that day, Giles had organized a small ceremony for himself and the Scoobies, effectively keeping Spike away by holding it in the middle of the afternoon, so Dawn wasn't surprised when she found him on his knees before the headstone, half-drunk and completely broken. She had dropped down beside him and as soon as he had reached out to wrap an arm around her shoulders, she started wailing out all her hurt and guilt, telling him all the ways in which her sister's death was her fault.

'_No_!' he had growled fiercely, pulling her into his chest and banding his arms tightly around her, holding her together. '_Don't ever think it. None of this is your fault Bit. Not the portal, not Buffy. If anyone's to blame it's…_'

He had broken off there, choking down sobs of his own, but Dawn had known what he'd meant. Just like her, he felt that he was to blame. Too lost in her own grief, she had been unable to tell him in words that he was wrong, could only shake her head and hug him back. But his words had comforted her.

Dawn raised her head, wiping the tears from her face. Spike understood what she was going through. He felt the same things, and knew exactly what to say to make her feel better, even if it was only for a little while. He could even make her smile, laugh sometimes. He wanted to be around her even if the others didn't, so what right did they have to keep him away from her? Stuffing her feet into a pair of sneakers, she gave one last look around the empty house before slamming the front door and heading out into the night.

* * *

Spike was just passing Restview, halfway back to Revello Drive when he heard the screams. He'd patrolled his cemetery earlier that night, so he was caught off guard when the cries echoed out from deep within the graveyard, emanating from the direction of his crypt. Beyond annoyed at being further kept from Dawn, he jumped over the fence and slipped into game face, ready to eviscerate whatever vampire was causing the delay. The sight that greeted him had his dead heart leaping into his throat.

Dawn was standing at the door of his crypt, jerking desperately at the handle, too frightened to notice the latch he had rigged at the top to hold it shut. A small male vampire had chased her across the cemetery and was now only yards away, taking slow menacing steps forward as he savored the scent of fear coming from his cornered prey. Dawn turned around and banged frantically on the door with the flat of her palm.

"Spike!" she screamed. "Spike!"

Her terrified pleas cut through his fear like a knife and jolted him into action. Springing forward, he vaulted onto a headstone and used the momentum to deliver a vicious spinning kick, landing the heel of his combat boot squarely in back of the vampire's head. The smaller male went flying, crashing face-first into the statue of an angel, shattering the limestone sculpture. Pulling a stake from his belt, Spike tackled him back to the ground as he attempted to stand, thrusting the wood deep into his back and through his heart. Standing, he brushed the dust from his jacket and turned to the Dawn, a shout in his throat, ready to reprimand her for being outside after dark. The look on her face stopped him.

"Oh Niblet," he murmured.

Stepping up to her, he folded her into a hug and rested his cheek on the top of her head. He could feel her slight body shaking from the shock and the fear, so he pushed her back to arms-length so he could look her over. The emotions on her face almost killed him. Again. It reminded him of the day they'd buried Buffy without him, the pain he had tried to dull with a whiskey bottle, and the moments he and the Bit had shared at Buffy's graveside. The girl had revealed in gut-wrenching detail how she felt just as guilty and alone as he had, and it was obvious that being abandoned tonight had brought all those terrible thoughts back.

"Are you ok?" he asked. Spike knew that it could take hours for him to coax her to express all the pain that was in her heart right now, but for the moment he would settle for making sure she hadn't been hurt by the vampire he'd just dusted.

"Yeah," she sniffed, running a hand under her nose. "I'm ok."

"What happened?" he asked.

"Willow and Tara got in a fight," she said sadly. "And Tara left. And then Willow and Xander started yelling about some plan they made, and how they could only do it tonight, and Anya was yelling about how she had to use _her_ money to buy something, and that they had to go, and then they just left! They left Spike! They didn't even tell me they were going, they just walked out and left me!"

The shaking had come back again, though Spike suspected that this time anger was more the cause than fear or despair.

"Well luv," he sighed, unable to excuse the Scoobies, even for her sake, "You and me makes two. An' if you think I'm leavin' again after you sneakin' out by yourself without so much as a stake in your hand you're completely daft." Dawn's lip trembled and her eyes dropped to the ground as Spike scolded her, and he felt need to soften the blow. "So," he said, "Guess I'm gonna' have to keep you occupied. What does a bird like you do on a Saturday night? Go to the Bronze?"

"Sounds like a distraction to me," Dawn mumbled, folding her arms across her chest, her resentment lingering.

"One works just as well as the other. Come on. Night's still young."


	6. Chapter 6

**Lot's of quotes from Bargaining I and II here, though not always from the same mouths. So again, all publicly recognized characters, quotes, places, and plotlines, belong to Joss Whedon and Co. Enjoy and Review! (:**

* * *

"So, why isn't Tara helping us?" Anya asked, her voice hushed. She had been unusually quiet since they had entered the woods next to the cemetery, staying close to Xander's side. "I mean, wouldn't it make more sense for us to do this with _two_ witches?"

"It's not important," Willow replied. She had been adamant that they not bring anyone else in on their plan; not Giles, not Dawn, not Spike, but especially not Tara. She had made her stance on resurrection spells clear when Joyce had died, and Willow knew that no matter how she argued for the different circumstances of Buffy's death, Tara wouldn't be a part of any such magic, nor would she simply allow Willow to do so without attempting to stop her. But it had to be done. Buffy needed them. _That_ was why she had been unable to confess to Tara earlier that night, even though it almost killed her to watch the love of her life walk out the door.

"This is deep stuff Willow," Xander said, pulling her away from her thoughts while he lifted a tree branch for the girls to walk beneath. They were almost to Buffy's plot, and the reality of what they were about to do had become a glaring weight on his shoulders. "We're talking about raising the dead here."

"It feels wrong," Anya murmured, drawing her jacket more tightly around her.

"It is wrong!" Willow snapped. "It's against all laws of nature and practically impossible to do! But Buffy didn't die a natural death. She was killed by mystical energy, and that means we have a shot."

Anya frowned in the dark. "I just think that it would work better if we had Tara here. Or even Giles…"

"Well Giles isn't here is he?" Willow snapped. "I checked and rechecked the spell. It will work with fine with just us. Three is a powerful number… and the others might not understand."

Anya's frowned deepened, and she moved to protest once more, but Xander shook his head before stepping away from her and Willow. She watched with a terrible mix of emotions that she didn't fully understand as the human boy she loved took a few steps forward and reached out a hand to the stone that loomed in front of them. They had arrived at their destination.

Willow placed her bag carefully at the foot of the grave, rummaging quietly for a moment before passing out slim black candles. The ex-demon shivered when her fingers brushed those of the witch; she could feel a dark power brewing overhead, and the shadows seemed to be channeling through the girl. Moving to the left so that she, Xander, and Willow formed a triangle over the base of Buffy's plot, she reached deep into her pocket for the lighter she had made Willow pay for back at the magic box.

"One minute to midnight," Xander commented, checking his watch.

"Start the circle," Willow responded quietly.

Her and Xander's wicks caught, flaring bright in the dark, but Anya's hand shook. Her lighter refused to spark, and she felt the sudden fear of realization at how easily this spell could go so terribly terribly wrong.

"Anya, light your candle!" Willow demanded.

"I can't, it won't…" Flicking the lighter one more time, the thing finally took, flickering to life despite the breeze that had suddenly picked up.

The three friends knelt carefully and settled the candles in the grass. Reaching into her bag again, Willow pulled out the elusive Urn of Osiris, the last that existed in this world. Removing the top, she dipped in a finger and raised it to her face, spreading thick, sticky red in three strokes, forehead and cheekbones. Stretching forward, she poured the rest of the tacky liquid over the grave.

"Osiris," she began, "Keeper of the Gate. Master of all fate. Hear me!"

Her voice was heavy with power, her tone commanding. A chill ran down Anya's spine, and the lead weight of knowledge dropped into her stomach. The sky above them had darkened as a cloud slipped over the face of the full moon, a harsh wind cutting through the trees. The air positively crackled. This was no way to bring back a Slayer. Such a request called for begging and pleading, supplications and offerings. Bloodshed. Sacrifice. One did not make demands of the powers. But it was begun, and she could not stop it.

* * *

As she hurried quickly along the sidewalk in the dark, Tara's resolve began to waver. A chill wind was biting at the back of her neck, and the air felt heavy in a way that reminded her of spell casting. She was only halfway to the dormitory when she slowed to a stop, looking about nervously and tugging on the hem of her sweater. She felt a draw, something pulling at her to go back to the house on Revello Drive.

Perhaps it was guilt. Yes. She was sure that was it. She and Willow almost never argued, and now, this most awful of fights, she had been the one to start. She didn't think that she had been wrong to defend Spike, nor did she think it too much to ask that Willow be honest with her, but she had gone about it all wrong. She had been too forward, had said the wrong things, had obviously made Willow feel threatened or berated. Though that had not been Tara's intention, it had clearly been the result.

And she had left. Goddess, what had she been thinking? Walking away from the girl she loved after confronting her, running because she was scared that Willow didn't trust her. How could she do that? Especially now? Willow's use of magic was becoming a concern, and Tara knew how easily it would be for someone with so much power to slip into abuse, addiction, black magics. A shaft of moonlight played around her feet on the sidewalk, scattered by the shadows of the leaves on a nearby tree. A _full_ moon tonight. Tara shivered, a strange sensation trickling down her spine. Trying to shrug it away, she turned from campus and hurried back up the street. She had an apology to make.

* * *

The Bronze was in true form, packed with people and humming with the excited energy of a Saturday night. Cutting a pathway through the crush of bodies, Spike led Dawn to a table along the wall near the back, his eyes flashing yellow at the couple who occupied it.

"Bugger off," he said in a low snarl.

Eyes wide with uncertain fear, the pair quickly departed, leaving their watery drinks behind. As Dawn hopped up onto one of the high stools, Spike deposited the dirty glasses on the tray of a passing bus boy, ordering a whiskey with a coke back and a shot of peppermint schnapps. His tone brooked no argument from the boy, though serving tables wasn't really something that was done at the Bronze. Climbing onto his own stool, Spike took out a cigarette and lit up, taking a deep drag and blowing the smoke out and away from Dawn.

"Hungry Bit?" he asked.

"No," she responded dully, tucking her hair behind her ear. Spike watched as her fingers shook.

The walk to the Bronze from his crypt had been fast and short, and the shock of the attack was finally starting to hit her. Her eyes were darting around, flashing from the bar, to the dance floor, to the balcony above her head; more importantly, her heart was fluttering nervously in her chest, the sour scent of adrenaline tainting her sweat as it moved out of her body. She needed a good dose of something strong, and some sugar to work through. She needed reassurance.

"Take it easy pet," he murmured, taking another drag on his smoke. "You're safe with me, yeah?"

Dawn took a deep breath and settled lower in her seat. "Yeah."

The bus boy returned; sidling nervously up to their table and eyeing Spike's cigarette but keeping his mouth shut as he deposited the three drinks in front of him. Impressed that someone so young already possessed the wisdom of silence, Spike slipped him a ten and waved him off. Holding back the whiskey for himself, he passed the red plastic cup of coke over to Dawn, followed by the shot of schnapps. She looked up at him with raised eyebrows, confusion on her face.

"I can't drink," she said, pushing the glass away. "I'm fifteen."

"And I'm a hundred and twenty six," he dead-panned, pushing the shot back. "You had a bad scare tonight Bit. Little sip will take the edge off, help settle the nerves."

The girl looked at him with a skeptical frown. Picking up the glass, she sniffed at the clear liquid and made a face, but bravely drank the mouthful down. Coughing slightly, she pushed the glass across the table.

"Burns," she remarked, her eyes watery. "It's like a candy cane."

Spike tapped his ashes into the empty shot glass before pointing his cigarette at her. "Special circumstance here Bit," he rumbled. "I catch you doing something stupid an' makin' a habit of this, I'll snap every one of your beloved boy band CDs in half. Do the whole world a favor. Got it?"

She nodded, picking up her coke. Spike couldn't help a grin when he saw her swishing the soda around in her mouth, apparently not too happy with the aftertaste of the alcohol. No worries about encouraging a bad habit then. He did feel a little guilty; _she _wouldn't have approved, but a healthy brandy had been the remedy for a bad shock for as long as _he_ could remember. Taking a long pull on his whiskey, he tried to settle his own nerves, not sure why they were humming so badly. They were both silent for a minute, not certain what they were meant to say to each other that hadn't already been said.

"Spike? You said you're a hundred and twenty six right?"

" 'Bout that," Spike nodded, unsure where she was headed.

"So you've seen people, known people who've…" Dawn didn't say it, but she didn't have to. "How did they get past it?" She looked up at him and her heart was in her eyes. "How do _we_ get past it? Where do we go from here?"

"No right answer to that luv," he sighed. "Mostly you just do what you can. You live through it an hour, a minute at a time, until one day you wake up and you realize it doesn't hurt as much as it used to. That you can remember the good times, the happy things… not just how much it hurts. You realize that even if you don't remember them every second of every day… it doesn't mean that you forgot. And you realize that that's ok."

"Feels like that'll never happen," she said sadly. "Like it will always hurt. Like it happened yesterday."

"I know Niblet," Spike admitted heavily. "Just means that you loved her."

_And so did you_, Dawn thought.

"So you just do what you can," he continued, nursing his drink. "Every day until that day comes. You live, and you try to be happy, because it's what she would've wanted. And you know I'll be here Bit, long as you want me around. Keep you safe. Listen when you wanna talk. Ok?"

Dawn gave him a small smile, and for the moment, it was enough. She opened her mouth to speak of lighter things, but then her gaze moved somewhere past his ear, her eyes narrowing as she leaned out around him. Spike felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up; slipping into his fangs, he spun on his stool and found himself face to face with a Genthos demon.

Much like vampires, Genthos demons were able to pass through the world unnoticed because they looked remarkably like normal people, at least until you got them naked. They were timid things, small in stature with appetites like snakes, eating mice, insects, and small reptiles, and as far as Spike knew, never hurting anyone or making trouble. He had seen a few of them in the Bronze before and had mostly left them alone when he crossed their paths, but he would make an exception should this one insist on making trouble.

"Shove off mate," he warned, his eyes flashing at the darkly-complected male.

"Sir," the demon quavered in a placating tone, "Forgive me. You are William the Bloody, Master Vampire of the Aurelian line?"

"What of it?" Spike growled.

"I beg a moment of your time Sir." The demon executed a small bow, nodding in a way that exposed his neck. Anyone else might have missed it, that flashing of the pulse point, but to a vampire it was a sign of submission, of respect. "I come with a message. I would not approach you were this not…"

Spike gave out a feral snarl, showing his teeth, testing, and though the demon flinched violently backward and dropped his eyes to the floor, he didn't leave. Spike could smell his fear, hear his heart pounding, could sense the effort it took for the nervous demon to face down a Master Vampire instead of flee. Though his motives were unknown, the fact that this little Genthos would fight so hard against his nature to deliver a message did not bode well for the tone of said missive.

Spike rose smoothly from his seat and turned to Dawn, placing a hand on her shoulder. She had been leaning forward with a look of great interest, straining to hear their low words. "Stay here yeah?" he said firmly. Pointing, he indicated an empty table halfway around the dance floor. "Gonna be right over there havin' a little chat. Still be able to see you. Finish up here and I'll take you home, ok?"

"Ok," Dawn said, frowning when she realized she was going to be left out of the conversation. "I'll just wait."

"Good girl." Giving her shoulder a squeeze, Spike turned and began to walk away, knowing the Genthos would follow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the demon bow to Dawn, touching his breastbone with his fingertips; a customary show of respect by his species for the female sex, whom were greatly honored within their culture. Trotting along behind him, the demon quickly caught up, waiting until he was seated before doing so himself.

"So tell me demon," Spike rumbled, leaning forward on his elbows, "what portent of doom do _you_ bring?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Before time, and after. Before knowing, and nothing," Willow chanted. "Accept our offering. Know our prayer!"

Overheard, thunder rumbled, an icy wind cutting through the trees and making the candle flames flicker. Xander shivered at the tone of his best friend's voice, leaning back on his heels as he tried to steel his spine and not shrink from the power that was coming off of her in waves. Across from him, Anya, the girl of his dreams, was staring wide-eyed in fear, her body shaking.

Suddenly, Willow let out a cry of pain, and Xander blanched in shock. Deep, jagged cuts were appearing on Willow's arms, the skin splitting to expose the muscle beneath. Tears streamed down her face as more cuts opened. Xander leapt to his feet and reached out to grab her and pull her away from the grave, but Anya slapped at his hands.

"No!" she yelled over the howling of the wind. "This is a test!"

Xander started to protest, but Willow's cries suddenly twisted into words, continuing the spell.

"Osiris!" she screamed, "Here lied the warrior of the people! Let her cross over!"

The cuts on her arms sealed themselves, and Xander felt a second of relief, but it was as gone as fast as it had come. Large lumps rapidly began to appear on her arms and her chest, scurrying beneath her skin like large, horrendous beetles.

"She needs help!" He yelled at Anya, again reaching out, but she shoved him back.

"No! If we break the cycle it's over, and then who knows what'll happen! This is the price Xander!"

"Let her cross over!" Willow shouted. Abruptly, her body lurched forward, her hands clutching at the grass as she bucked and spluttered. She was choking. Slowly, so slowly, Xander watched in horror as his friend gagged, the diamond-shaped head of a snake emerging from her mouth. Xander felt his own stomach leap into his throat as the slimy reptile slithered out onto the grass, Willow retching until its slender tail dropped to the ground in front of her.

"Willow," Xander tremored, his voice shaking.

Willow pitched backward, her eyes flashing solid black as her head wrenched up, staring at the sky. Tendrils of red and gold light exploded around her, filling the darkness with a popping, sizzling electricity. "Osiris," she roared, baring her teeth around the words like an animal, "Release her!"

A crack of thunder boomed, and the earth began to shake violently beneath their feet. Xander reached out, steadying Anya as she stumbled. In that moment, a fierce gust of wind blasted through the clearing and everything went black; the candles snuffed, the colors surrounding Willow dying out in the blink of an eye. The sound of ceramic shattering broke the silence, and Willow screamed.

"Nooooo!"

"Xander?" Anya cried fearfully, gripping at his arms. "Xander!"

Xander's breath caught in his throat, his heart skipping a beat and filling his mouth with a sour, metallic taste. The woods around them were suddenly alive as the wind whipped through the trees, hundreds of pairs of eyes glowing white, yellow, and green in the darkness.

"We need to get out of here."

The words sounded like his, but he didn't remember speaking them. Small snarls and yips, low roars and scratchings began to fill the air, and Xander reached down to grab Willow's arm in a vice-like hold. Pulling her to her feet, he looked blindly in Anya's direction.

"Run!" he yelled. "Run!"

* * *

Ten minutes later, a hand breaks ground.

Tentative fingers trace the letters cut deep in stone – She saved the world. A lot.

A giggle rasps from dry lips before she turns and skips happily up the street. She knows just where to go.

A tower comes into view, and she smiles. Laughs as the memory returns, a torrent of color and electricity splitting the sky. She stands back, looking up as the wind whips her hair in a frenzy around her face. There is a creak. A screech of metal. With a terrific crash the tower falls, and she laughs. Once she jumped. Now she turns away.

She's almost there.

* * *

It took longer than it should have for Tara to get back to Revello Drive. The ominous rumblings that brewed overhead were frightening enough to put speed in her step, but she felt frenzied and disoriented in the dark, and took more than one wrong turn. When the house finally came into sight, the warm glow of the living room windows calmed her. For some terrible moments, Tara had feared that her fight with Willow had thrown the witch over an edge, causing her to fall deep into her magiks and potentially even darker places.

A frown lit on her face when she found the front door unlocked, but she pushed the door open anyway, quietly hanging up her jacket. The living room was empty but the lights in the kitchen were on as well; no doubt Willow would be there, hunched over a bowl of cereal, as was her habit when she couldn't sleep. Tara hesitated, a dozen emotions rolling through her, but no words coming immediately to mind. Deciding that she would just apologize and go from there, she slowly entered the kitchen.

It was empty.

Tara frowned. Perhaps Willow had thought she would come back and had left the lights on for her? Scanning the counters and the center island for a note, she found none. Still mad then. Her heart sank. Moving back through the living room, Tara ascended the stairs quietly, so as not to wake Dawn. The house was silent, indicating that its occupants were asleep, and she debated the wisdom of just crawling into bed beside her girlfriend and leaving the reconciliation till tomorrow. Pushing into the master bedroom, Tara's breath caught. The moonlight streaming through the open window illuminated the empty bed, the sheets neatly drawn up, un-slept in.

Tara immediately turned to Dawn's room, poking her head in through the open door. It too was empty. Throwing the door open, Tara turned a full circle, searching for the girl when she suddenly knew that she was horribly, terribly alone.

"Dawn?" she called loudly, her voice echoing in the empty house. "Dawn!"

Tearing back across the hall, Tara thrashed around the room that she and Willow had shared for months, searching every flat surface for a note, something, _anything_, that would tell her where the two girls had gone. Panic overcame her as she scattered candles, books, and papers over the floor in a desperate hunt for anything that would say they were alright. Helplessness and a feeling of ignorance flooded through her. She didn't know if they were together, if they had been taken from the house or left of their own accord, if they were hurt. She didn't know anything.

Jerking on a dresser drawer, she pulled too hard and it fell to the floor, spilling Willow's t shirts over her feet. Tara froze. Beneath the clothes were several books she'd never seen before, but she recognized the symbols emblazoned on their spines. Dark magiks. Mind controls. Resurrections. The bottom dropped out of Tara's stomach, but she couldn't let herself believe… Reaching out with the toe of her shoe, she flipped a book over, but quickly jerked back when a small Ziploc bag was unearthed from the pile. Inside were a handful of dried flowers; the dark centers surrounded by pale, veined petals. Henbane.

In Greek mythology, the herb was used to crown the dead of Hell, who were doomed forever to walk along the river Styx. It was extremely poisonous in any form, and only used in the most dangerous of spells. Faced with the dreadfulness of what this hidden stockpile could mean, Tara back slowly out of the room and dashed down the stairs. She had to find Willow. She had to stop this. Grabbing at the door, she wrenched it open and stopped dead in her tracks.

* * *

"We can't leave," the Genthos explained, his head ducked in submission. "Our Roxis, our clan leader, is old, infirm. He cannot be moved. So we must stay."

Spike listened carefully, though he cared little about the problems of a local demon clan-master. He had plenty of his own issues to deal with. His eyes flicked across the club periodically, checking on his charge. Dawn sat idly, sliding her cup back and forth between her hands on the table top. She was watching them, her interest seemingly held by the young demon in front of him, but whenever she caught Spike watching her, she would return her gaze back to the table.

"You must have seen it," the Genthos said suddenly, looking Spike bravely in the eye.

Spike's attention returned to him, the recent weeks' patrols coming back. "It's an exodus," he said in abrupt understanding.

The Genthos nodded. "Most are leaving," he confirmed. "Getting away from this place while they still can. Others gather. They wait."

"Wait for what?" Spike snarled, suddenly desperate to know what was going on.

"Hell."


	8. Chapter 8

'_He's cute_!' Dawn decided, sneaking another glance. Spike was watching her, so she had to be quick about it, and again she wished that they had sat closer. She'd gotten a fairly good look at the guy before they'd crossed the dance floor, when he had done that weird thing with his hand, but she wanted another one.

He had pretty, olive-colored skin and thick black hair, five o'clock shadow dark across his jaw. He was sort of short, but he was stocky with strong shoulders, and he had a nice chin. He was wearing a really cool grey jacket with patches on the arms, black chucks and pale jeans, with ripped knees like she wasn't allowed to wear. Twenty-ish probably. She wondered what they were talking about. She wondered if he was a vampire too.

All of a sudden, Dawn felt terribly dizzy, her vision going blurry as her head spun. Her skin got cold and clammy, but she could feel a warm, tingling sensation in her stomach like she was going to be sick, and she wondered if it was the shot Spike had given her.

_Dawn._

She jumped, looking around comically for the person who'd said her name. There was no one there. The dancers on the floor were all too far away to have called to her, and none of them were paying her any attention anyway. By reflex she looked to Spike, but he was leaning in close to the cute guy with a weird look on his face, his hands gesturing harshly in the air.

_Dawn_.

This time she jumped all the way to her feet, knocking over her empty cup and making her stool squeak across the floor. A couple people gave her weird looks, but she ignored them, listening hard. What was happening to her? That had sounded like… Tara?

_Dawn, get home. Now!_

She didn't hesitate. She didn't yell for Spike, she didn't look back. She just ran, headed for the door, shoving bodies left and right out of her way. Something was driving her, nipping at her heels and telling her to move her butt. Something was wrong, and she needed to get home as fast as humanly possible.

* * *

"The hell do you mean, they're waiting for _hell_?" Spike snarled, his eyes and teeth flashing.

The Genthos shrank back, quailing under the face of his rage. "Can't you feel it?" he asked, his voice strained. "The walls between dimensions are thinning."

Spike's mouth went dry. Was Glory back? No. She couldn't be back! There was no way that Buffy's jump had failed to stop the apocalypse, no way she had died for nothing. "Care to elaborate?" he hissed dangerously, covering his pain, his rage at the thought as he gripped the edge of the table to the point that the wood squealed under the pressure.

The demon narrowed his dark eyes in confusion. "I can feel it," he murmured. "Pushing me down to the earth. My skin tingles with it… my ears ring."

Spike's did too. And that was different. The Hell-Bitch hadn't had that effect. Come to think of it, there'd been no mass evacuation of demon life when she'd been in town either. A bit of tension went out of Spike's shoulders. Fairly safe to say this was some new beastie then. The next Big Bad. He supposed it was overdue.

"Exactly who's doing this thinning?" he asked.

"I don't know Sir," the demon replied, dropping his eyes. "But my Roxis has heard of this thing before. In the places where dark magic builds, the walls that separate planes thin. They continue getting thinner, more and more until they tear."

"What makes them tear?"

The demon shrugged. "A spell," he said. "Any spell… as long as it's big enough. It's a final straw kind of thing. The wall can't take it anymore, and it breaks."

A feeling of dread crept over Spike. "What happens when it breaks?"

"Dimensions open," the Genthos said gravely. "The last spell, the one that caused the rift, will determine which. This world won't end, but the others will slowly begin to pour through. The more things cross over, the wider the rift will become, until we find ourselves living in a virtual hell on earth."

"Bloody hell," Spike breathed.

"Probably."

"Where are the walls thinning?" he asked, looking hard at the young demon. "Where. Exactly."

"I can show you," he offered, jumping quickly to his feet. "It's close. I can…"

"Can't tonight mate," Spike interrupted, jerking a thumb in the direction of the dance floor. "Got the girl with…"

Spike voice died in his throat, his borrowed blood going cold in his veins. Their vacated table was empty. A red plastic cup lay on its side on the table, Dawn's stool pushed back into the wall. Flashing across the club, he looked around frantically, searching for the girl he should've been watching. He could smell her in the air, the bitter odor of magic contaminating the scent, but she was nowhere in sight.

"Little Bit?" he called desperately over the crowd. "Dawn? DAWN!"

* * *

Xander stumbled through the woods, struggling to support Willow's weight over rocks and logs, under branches and around trees and bushes. Anya ran ahead, trying to find him a smoother path, but there were… _things_ in the dark behind them, yipping and snapping at their heels, urging them forward at a breakneck pace. Snarls and roars filled the woods as thunder rumbled overhead, and the air seemed almost electrified, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up as his skin hummed. Willow was choking and sobbing in his arms, and wasn't sure he could go much farther.

Rounding a pine tree, his boot caught in a divot in the earth and his strength abruptly fled. Everything that had happened, the fear, the despair, all came crashing down on him and he fell, taking his friend down with him. Angling them against the base of the tree, he looked back over his shoulder into the dark, praying that he wouldn't see what was hunting them. Willow sat with her back to the trunk of the pine, gasping and clutching weakly at her throat.

"Did it work?" she wheezed deliriously, her eyes rolling wildly in her head. "Did it work?"

Xander looked at her and his heart broke as he shook his head. "Sorry," he whispered.

"It's over," she whispered back in the dark. "It's over."

"Hey," he murmured, gripping her shoulder. "We'll try again."

"We can't," she sobbed, tears beginning to track down her face. "The urn broke. I heard it shatter."

"We'll fix it," he assured her. "A little tape, some crazy glue…"

Willow just shook her head. "It doesn't matter," she whispered. "The urn's defiled, it's gone. Buffy… It's all for nothing. Buffy's gone!" Willow lurched forward, grabbing Xander tightly and letting out a wail into his shoulder.

Looking past her, he saw that Anya had circled back, and was now standing a few feet off in a patch of moonlight, watching silently while tears poured down her face.

"Buffy's gone!" Willow cried, her pain echoing through the suddenly silent night air. "She's really gone!"

* * *

Tara felt… She didn't know what she felt. Lost was probably the best word. Horrified and disgusted and afraid and ecstatic. And joyful. So joyful. She hovered at the edge of the living room, her arms wrapped tightly around her middle as she watched the spectacle in front of her. She didn't know what to do. Everything was so wrong, and this was beyond her ability to fix. She had quite possibly even made it worse by calling Dawn, reaching out to her through waves of magic and the connecting threads of their auras, but it had been her first impulse when she'd gotten her brain wrapped around the sight that had greeted her at the front door. Now… Now she wasn't sure that Dawn could handle this. She wasn't sure that any of them could.


	9. Chapter 9

The backs of Dawn's shoes were cutting into her heels as she ran. She would have blisters tomorrow, but all that mattered now was getting home. Her breath rasped in her throat and she had a stitch in her side, but she didn't stop until she got there, jumping the steps to the front porch and landing with a thud. Grabbing the knob, she wrenched the door open and ran to the base of the stairs.

"Dawn!"

Turning to the living room, she saw Tara coming quickly towards her, a strange look on her face. Moving to her side, she grasped Dawn's shoulders in gentle hands and looked her up and down worriedly.

"Dawnie are you ok?" she asked, running her hands up and down Dawn's arms. "Where were you? Where's Willow?"

"I don't know," Dawn replied. "She left right after you did, her and Anya and Xander. They didn't tell me they were going, the just left. So I went and found Spike. We were at the Bronze, but then I heard your voice in my head and…"

"I'm sorry about that sweetie," Tara interrupted, looking nervously back over her shoulder into the living room. "I didn't want to scare you, but I didn't know where you were and…"

"Tara, what's going on?" Dawn asked, a twisted knot forming in the pit of her stomach at the fear in the other girl's voice. "Why did you…"

Suddenly her voice trailed off into nothing, her blood running cold. Stepping carefully around Tara, she walked slowly into the living room, so slowly it was as if she weren't moving at all. Tears stung at her eyes, and a hand went to her mouth as her heart beat furiously in her chest.

"Buffy?" she whispered. "Oh my God, Buffy!"

* * *

"Come on Willow," Xander panted. "We're almost there."

"You said that twenty minutes ago!" Anya gasped across the head of the girl who was slumped between them, only upright because she was being supported with an arm over each of their shoulders.

"This time I mean it," he heaved.

Coming to a stop, he helped to ease his friend to the ground, where she curled into a tight knot on the pavement, hugging her knees to her chest. "I can't believe I messed it up," she murmured, her eyes wide and empty. "I can't believe I messed it up. How did I mess it up?"

"It wasn't your fault Wills," Xander said softly, looking off up the street into the dark. He was bone tired, more so than he had ever been, and he wanted nothing more than to crawl into his bed where he could weep quietly in peace. They were only a block away from Buf… from the house on Revello Drive, and as soon as he got Willow there, he was heading straight home.

Anya was frowning at him with that look on her face, the look she got right before she said something that she really shouldn't. He shook his head firmly at her, praying that she wasn't about to contradict his statement to Willow. The pale, trembling girl climbed slowly to her feet, staring up at the night sky where a thick cloud cover had obscured the full moon.

"I thought I could do it," she whispered. "I _knew_ I could do it. How did I mess this up?"

"I don't know" Xander replied. "Let's just go home ok?"

She didn't respond, but followed him silently down the sidewalk, Anya bringing up the rear of their sad, sorry little band. Lights blazed on the first floor of the house, visible as soon as they turned onto the street, and Xander wondered briefly if they would have to deal with one of Dawn's teenage tantrums about them leaving before he could go home and sleep. Climbing the porch steps wearily, he opened the front door and ushered his best friend and his girlfriend inside. A familiar voice greeted them.

"I don't know Dawnie. I just don't know."

Willow's face brightened. "Tara?" she called, hope making her voice crack. "Tara?"

Dropping her jacket onto the floor in the hall, Willow ran into the living room. Xander looked over at Anya and gestured questioningly to the door. He didn't really want to stick around to referee a fight between the two wicca right now, nor did he want to be the one to explain to Tara what they had done that night. But Anya frowned at him and stepped away, so he did the only thing he could and followed. Passing through the entryway and into the living room, he stopped cold in his tracks.

"Oh my God. Buffy."

* * *

"Dawn!" Spike shouted, ignoring the looks directed at him by the crowd inside the club. "Dawn!"

Spinning around and around in a wide circle, the vampire could feel panic flooding through him; he didn't sweat, his heart didn't race, but he felt dizzy and ice cold, the tips of his fingers humming, all of his senses screaming at him to _do something_. Suddenly the Genthos demon was at his side, touching his forearm lightly, bringing him back into his head.

"The girl?" the young male asked, his eyebrows raised.

"Get off me!" Spike barked, ripping his arm away. "Gotta find her. Promised I'd protect her, I gotta find her!"

The small demon shrank back from his wide gesture, clearly expecting to be struck for the mistake of daring to touch a Master Vampire. Spike took a step back from him, an odd flash of remorse making him lower his voice when the Genthos raised an arm to ward off the blow. "I gotta find her."

Turning away, Spike pushed roughly through the crush, aiming for the doors. She wasn't inside, he would sense her there, sense the blood that she had shared with her sister. So she must have left. Smashing through the doors and out into the night, he paused, letting the sudden silence fall over him, settle him, focus him.

"She went this way Sir."

Spike almost jumped. The Genthos demon had followed him out, and now stood a few yards away, his head tipped back towards the night sky. Between parted lips, his narrow tongue flickered against his teeth, tasting, scenting the air. Tipping back his own head, Spike did the same, inhaling deeply through his nose and immediately zeroing in on Dawn. She was alone, but the scent of fear hung sharp and sour in the air. Without hesitation, he bolted, hauling ass up the street, following the scent. He could hear the Genthos running after him, but the shorter male had no chance of keeping up with the panicked vampire. Pushing himself to the starved edge of his endurance, he lengthened his stride and prayed he wasn't too late this time.

**I know this one is short and kind of non-action-y, but I'll make it up with the next one ;) Read and Review, I love you all!**


	10. Chapter 10

Spike felt like he was dying. Again. He was gasping violently for breath that he didn't need, a stitch sending sharp pains through his left side. He could feel his muscles trembling with the exertion of sprinting full out for a dozen blocks, and knew that starving himself had finally caught up with him.

Panic had him in its grasp, its fist tight around his throat as he ran. He had lost the Genthos demon within minutes, so fast was he pushing himself. But something in him screamed that it wasn't fast enough.

Not fast enough. Not clever enough. Not strong enough.

He had failed once. He couldn't fail again. He wouldn't survive that.

* * *

"Oh my God. She's back," Xander said. "She's her."

Buffy, the real Buffy, stood before them in her black funeral dress, her head tipped to one side as her eyes jumped from face to face. They didn't seem to notice that her hair was matted and full of dirt, or that blood caked the backs of her hands. They didn't notice the rips and tears in her smock, or the glassy quality of her gaze. They only saw the miracle that was their friend, living and breathing in front of them.

Xander and Willow's faces lit with smiles of awe and joy, unable to tear their eyes away from the beautiful sight before them, but Anya looked warily over at Dawn and Tara. They had tears in their eyes. Tara had her arms wrapped tightly around Dawn, keeping her close to her side. The teenager had one hand clamped over her mouth, the other arm snugged around her chest. Something wasn't right.

"You're back Buffy," Xander said, stepping forward with arms out. "You really are!"

A snarl nailed him to the floor. Buffy's eyes had narrowed dangerously as she let out the first sound she'd made since they had arrived home. Her teeth were bared beneath a raised lip, her nose wrinkled as she chattered out a strange little growl. Xander threw up his hands in surrender, taking two quick steps back and away.

"Woah, woah!" he said in supplication. "What…"

"What's wrong with her?" Anya finished bluntly.

Before he could scold her for suggesting that anything was wrong, Buffy laughed. Smiling widely at Anya, she raised her arms out to her sides and tipped her head back, closing her eyes and beginning to spin, twirling in a slow circle in the center of the room. Ok, so maybe something was wrong.

"How did she get here?" Willow asked in wonder, turning back to Tara. She frowned when she saw tears in her girlfriend's eyes.

"Willow what did you do?" she asked sadly.

"What? What do you… I, I mean, we. We, we brought her back Tara!" Willow said, defensiveness, pride, fear, and joy all warring in her tone. "Me and Anya and Xander. Tonight, we brought her back!"

"A resurrection spell?" Tara whispered. "You really _did_ do this? Willow, do you have any idea what the consequences of this could be?"

"Yes!" she responded loudly, defensiveness winning out. "The consequence is that Buffy's back! I mean, look!" Stepping forward, she reached out and grabbed Buffy by the arm, stopping her mid-spin. "She's…"

"No!" Buffy screamed. Thrashing wildly, she slapped Willow's hands down hard. "No!" Suddenly a giggle broke through, a sneaky grin creeping over her face. "Mustn't touch," she chided, wagging a finger at them. "Nooooo, mustn't touch the girl."

Willow paled and took a step back, fear"Buffy," Xander pleaded, "It's gonna be alright. We brought you back! You're home now…" Walking in close, he tried to grab Buffy's shoulders and force her down into a chair, but as soon as he touched her she lashed out, throwing him across the room to bounce roughly off the wall.

"Bad, bad, bad!" Buffy shouted. "_Bad_ boy!"

"I'm not a dog!" Xander grumbled, picking himself up.

"You're not reaching her," Tara spoke up. "She's too traumatized."

"Here's some news that might cheer you up Buffy!" Anya said, smiling at the girl who'd smiled back at her earlier. "Xander and I are getting married!"

"Ahn!"

"What?" she asked. "It's happy news! And I think we could all use some of that don't you? It's something _normal_."

"What did you do?" Dawn demanded suddenly, breaking away from Tara's side. Storming up to Willow, she gave the witch a good shove, forcing her back a couple of steps. "What did you do?"

"I… I…"

"Played a naughty game, she did."

Buffy's sly comment drew everyone's attention, and she smirked deviously as she skirted around the room, her hands walking the edge of the coffee table as she crept along. There was something feral in the way she was slinking about, her head ducked low, looking up at them beneath a fringe of dark hair.

"Black, black black," she muttered to herself in sing-song. "The red-witch is black."

Her voice was low and guttural as she crooned, but she had their full attention and they could all hear. Willow wore a look of horror; Buffy knew. She knew what Willow had done to finish the spell, she knew what had been inside the Urn of Osiris, what stained Willow's hands. Tara too looked on with fear, darting glances between the newly risen Slayer and her red-headed girlfriend. Dawn once again had a hand clamped over her mouth as tears streaked her face. Xander just looked dazed.

"Consequences," Buffy mumbled. "The red witch called it. Broke the trust. Broke the circle, broke the spell. Break, break, break."

Suddenly the front door smashed open and Spike stormed through into the foyer, anger burning off of him like steam.

"Dawn!" he shouted up the stairs. "Get your skinny ass down here now!"

The fury in his voice made all but two of the people in the living room quail. Buffy's head snapped up and she stared hard at the vampire, who'd yet to notice any of them he was so intent on his prey, the house as still as death until Dawn rushed forward.

"Spike," she said urgently, prepared to explain, but he cut her off, the tension going out of his shoulders in relief despite his words.

"Thank God. You scared me half to death," he snapped. "Or, more to death. You – I could kill you!"

"Spike…"

"I mean it! I could rip your head off one handed and drink from you r brainstem!"

"Spike!" she whispered harshly, "Look!"

Grabbing his leather sleeve, she turned him forcefully towards the living area. His eyes circled the room, taking in the faces there one at a time, until suddenly only one mattered.

The world stopped


	11. Chapter 11

*****This was the first scene I wrote when I began this story, and I'm so glad that I'm caught up and can finally post it. It may mean that updates come slightly less frequently from now on, but I'm hoping this extra-long, extra-actiony chapter will make up for it! Read and Review (:*****

* * *

He thought she was the Bot. Didn't understand why they'd brought the thing up from the basement. To torment him probably. Torture him with the reminder of what he'd done, what he hadn't done. But the way she was looking at him… Willow had said she'd taken all that programming out. Spike narrowed his eyes, took a step forward, and felt everything fall away.

"Buffy."

He breathed her name so softly that none but she heard it. She smiled sweetly as the word left his lips, and that smile surrounded him. Her scent came flooding into his brain, the sound of her living, beating heart pounding in his ears. She was alive. His mouth hung open, a look of pure awe on his face. It was the happiest moment of his life. And then it was shattered.

"Will'em's back," she said simply, as if informing them all that the phone was ringing. "Never left though, did he? Here the whole time." She smiled brightly at him, as if his being there was the most wonderful thing in the world. "Will'em won't ever leave us."

Spike felt his heart drop into his stomach. Breaking himself away from Buffy's beautiful face, away from the sound of her softly slurring his Christian name, he faced Willow and Xander with a look that could've killed.

"What have you done?" he said in a low voice, anger and horror warring for dominance in his tone.

"Back off evil dead!" Xander snapped. "We brought her back. Don't tell me you're not happy to see her!"

Spike took a step forward, intent on ripping out the whelp's throat, chip be damned, but he was stopped by a flash of movement in the corner of his eye. Faster and more deliberately than she had moved all night, Buffy hopped over the coffee table and began to circle him, around and around, predation evident in her movements. With a devious glint in her eye, she darted in and out, ever circling, taking little sniffs when she got close, scenting him. Spike managed a few half-turns, twisting, trying to keep her in sight. He half-raised a hand to catch her, but she evaded him easily with a light giggle and continued to circle.

"Sh, she, she's fine," Willow stammered. "She just needs some time is all. The important this is she's back." She looked wildly around at Tara, her eyes pleading for her to agree, to back her up. She got no such support. "She's fine…"

Spike turned on her, ready to shred that little theory with a dose of cold fact, when suddenly the girl in question snuck in behind him, grabbed him around the middle in a tight hug, cheek pressed against the back of his leather coat, and spun him in a wide circle before darting away again, giggling all the while.

"Used to dance with stars this one," she said in a sing-song voice. "Walked in death with pride. Big Bad." Dashing in, she took another sniff and smiled broadly. "Smells like sunshine now," she declared.

"Jesus," Spike breathed. 'Just fine' his sweet British ass. She was as barmy as Dru.

Suddenly Buffy seemed to fall into herself, stilling, her eyes going wide and fearful. Hands came up and clutched at her temples, scraping the hair back from her face. "No," she whispered, shaking her head desperately. "No, no, no, don't take me back! Don't want to go, don't want to go back to hell! Don't want to be here!"

Spike almost choked. He seemed to catch the one word that none of the others did. If she thought this was hell, that she'd been brought _back_ to it, where had she been? Abruptly the scent of blood filled Spike's head, metallic, cold, and caked against the skin. Snapping his attention back to reality, to _her_, his stomach flipped at the sight of Buffy's torn and bloodied knuckles. He'd seen injuries like that before. Stepping forward, he gently took one of her wrists in his hand, pulling it down from her face, softly insistent though she flinched violently under his touch.

" 'S alright Slayer," he murmured, cupping her cheek in one hand and tipping her face upward so that her unfocused gaze met his. "You're safe. Gonna get you fixed right up."

"Hey, get your hands off her deadboy!" Xander barked from behind him.

"Xander!" Willow shushed.

"She's r, r, right Xander," came Tara's soft voice. "Buffy wouldn't let any of us touch her. Not even Dawn."

"She's just confused!" the boy snapped back. "She doesn't even know who he is! Will umm? Please!"

Spike didn't bother rolling his eyes. He was too caught, falling into this beautiful dream, this nightmare. He could almost see it, the painful process of clawing her way back into her own head. Her eyes cleared a bit, and she relaxed her fist, spreading her hand out flat in his. For a moment, she looked almost like the Slayer he knew, _his _Slayer, his Buffy, and he expected her to pull away from him. But lucidity was fleeting, as it always was, there and gone again like it had never been.

Buffy's lower lip trembled. "Hurts," she whispered.

"I know luv," he murmured back to her, his heart breaking. "I know."

"We don't know what happened," Dawn said, stepping in close to Spike's side. "To her hands."

"I do," he said, loudly enough that the whole room would hear. "Clawed her way out of a coffin. Isn't that right pet?" There were gasps of horror, a duet of 'we didn't knows,' but he ignored them, intent on softening the revelation only for the girl in front of him. "Done it myself," he murmured to her quietly.

Buffy looked up at him shyly, but looked away just as quickly, though she left her hands in his.

"I was gonna fix them," Dawn said with a trembling voice, tears hard in her throat at the thought of what her sister must have experienced. "She wouldn't let me."

"'S alright Bit," Spike reassured. "Big sis is just a little scattered right now. Understandable yeah?" Dawn nodded reluctantly. "Run and get the first aid pet. We'll have her fixed up proper in no time."

As Dawn ran from the room, Spike hoped that what he'd just told her was true. Buffy didn't seem to have absorbed any of their conversation, but followed docilely when he led her to the couch and eased her down onto it, taking a seat on the coffee table in front of her for himself. He could hear an argument going on behind him, Xander and Willow's voices whispering harshly back and forth, but couldn't seem to listen to the words.

"Will'em?" Buffy whimpered, one of her hands tugging free of his grasp, only to come up and clutch at his shoulder. It was almost like she was looking through him, completely blinded to the world. Her pupils were enormous, eclipsing the green of her eye, as if she were in total darkness. "Can't see you!" she cried desperately.

"Right here luv," he said, his voice firm. He ran his hands up her arms to her shoulders, squeezing gently in reassurance, while at the same time checking for a pain reaction that would indicate any broken bones. When he had awoken in the shipping crate that had served as his own coffin after being thrown there by Dru, he had struck out so hard in the confined space that he had fractured his radius. Buffy seemed to have escaped that fate. " 'M right here."

His voice seemed to calm her, to force his presence into her harried mind, so he kept talking. "Been gone a long time pet," he began. "Uh… hundred and forty seven days yesterday. Hundred and forty eight days today." He chuckled lightly. "Though I guess today doesn't count does it?"

"Spike?"

Glancing over, he met Tara's eyes. She had heated water, and was kneeling at his side with a bowl and several clean towels. Dawn too had returned, handing over a large tackle box commissioned into service as the Official Summer's First Aid Kit many years ago. Happy to leave the doctoring to the two adults, Dawn huddled on the floor at her sister's feet, as close as she could get without being in Buffy's lap, enraptured by the sight of her sibling's face.

"M,m,maybe you could just h,h,hold on to her," Tara stammered, "and k,k,keep her calm. I c,c,could…"

Spike smiled softly in approval at the young witch, and gently spread Buffy's hands back out over his own, resting them on his thighs. Tara dipped a soft cloth into the water and tentatively reached out to Buffy, flinching in sync with her at the touch of wet heat on her bruised and battered skin.

"Hey, listen to me," Spike coaxed softly. "Come on Slayer. Hey." When Buffy's blind eyes came something close to his and he felt her hands relax, he gave Tara a nod and went back to trying to hold Buffy's attention. "It's just a scrape yeah?" he asked, tilting his head. "Just a little banged up is all. Seen you take a lot worse. Hell, I've dealt you a lot worse, and you never let it show, just bite that lip and wait for the pain to fade so you can kick my ass." Spike's heart twinged painfully at the memories of hurting her, of hunting her, but Tara had finished with Buffy's left hand and moved on to the other, so he kept going.

"We'll have you back to fighting speed in no time luv, don't you worry. I'll spar with you, get you back in shape." _His_ Buffy would have jumped at that, would have grabbed at the chance to demean his skills, scoff at him, brush off his offer. This Buffy just sat, blank faced, hanging on the sound of his voice but not hearing the words. "God Slayer, I'll be the bloody punching bag," he declared softly, his throat like broken glass with the pain. "Just snap out of this."

Tara's hand on his shoulder called his attention, and he looked down at the soft hands in his. She had cleaned away the dirt and the blood, the gravel and the splinters, exposing the raw skin below. He could even see to the shiny white bone of a few knuckles, and as he watched blood began to weep sluggishly from the open wounds. For the first time in months he didn't feel like running from the sight of the color red, could only feel the overwhelming urge to tend, to care. He would have licked them, laved them gently with his tongue not for the sweet drug that was a Slayer, that was _Buffy_, but to help disinfect and close them as a vampire could do. It was an ability he had rarely had the need for in his time. But he knew better. That would have him kicked out of this house faster than any other action he could think of, and would most likely have his invitation revoked. So instead he dipped into the tackle box, spreading ointment on thick before wrapping each of her hands in a generous length of soft cotton gauze.

"There," he said, tucking the last strip into place. "All done."

Buffy had been quiet during the last part of her doctoring, but now she smiled widely, bouncing up and down in her seat. "Kiss 'em better Will'em?" she asked shyly, batting her eyelashes like a little girl.

Spike was silent, stunned into stillness by her request. To think, Buffy had _asked_ him for a kiss. Extenuating circumstance obviously, but they were words he'd never thought to hear in any aspect, and knew he might never hear again. " 'Course pet," he managed finally, bringing a hand to his lips and placing a breath of a kiss on the bandage there. "Anything for you." He raised the other and kissed it in kind, and Buffy let out a bashful giggle, blushing and hiding her face. Dawn broke the silence that followed with a giggle of her own, hers bordering on the hysterical.

"Dawn I think m,m,maybe you should head up to bed," Tara suggested softly, gathering up the dirty towels. "It's b,b,been a long day."

"I'm not leaving Buffy," Dawn said, suddenly alert and filled with teenage stubbornness.

"No sweetie, I d,d,didn't mean…"

"Maybe you could stay with big sis tonight, yeah?" Spike asked, coming to Tara's aid. Standing, he pulled Buffy gently to her feet. "Buffy, luv? Wanna get into some pjs and climb into bed?"

"Oh, there's no way in hell," Xander said angrily. Stepping forward, he grabbed Spike's arm and jerked, dragging him away from Buffy.

"No!" she cried, lunging forward. Snagging the lapel of his duster in her fist, she pulled hard and reeled him back in. Before Spike could react at all, she had banded her arms around his chest and was hugging him tight enough to make his ribs protest. Burying her face in his tshirt, she began chanting something over and over, words that he didn't understand, her body shaking.

"God Xander, back the hell off!" Dawn shouted.

None of them responded. Spike was too busy trying to calm the Slayer, Willow was consumed with her own horror over the results of her spell, and Xander was simply too stunned. Tara secretly thought that he deserved it.

"Easy Slayer," Spike urged, easing Buffy back and looking her in the eye, "Buffy. 'S all right. This is Dawn, yeah?" Motioning Dawn over, he placed Buffy's hand in hers and held them together. "She's your sister, and she loves you a whole lot." He motioned again and Tara came to his side. "And this is Tara," he continued, watching carefully as Buffy's eyes followed the girls' movements, looking back and forth between them. "She's your good friend, and she loves you too. They're gonna take real good care of you for me. They promised. So I want you to go with them and get a little rest. Know you been sleepin' a long time now, but a lil nap in your own bed'll do you good yeah?"

Letting go of Buffy's hand, he took a step back and waited. Buffy's hand stayed in Dawn's and for just a second, her eyes cleared and she seemed to recognize her sister. "Dawnie?" she asked.

"Oh Buffy, thank God!" Hope lit Dawn's face and Spike's heart ached for her and the inevitable crushing of that hope. He didn't have to wait long. Buffy giggled and clapped her hands excitedly, ripping through the quiet and causing Dawn's eyes to drop to the floor. Spike didn't think that sound would ever mean the same thing to him again.

"Don't worry Bit," he said to the heartbroken girl, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We'll figure this out."

Dawn nodded in silence, tears tracking down her cheeks. Suddenly, she threw herself at Spike, hugging him tightly, a hug he was only too happy to return. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, he schooled his features to hide his fear from her. He couldn't tell her that he'd spent a century trying to do the same for Dru and had failed. Slipping away, Dawn reached for Buffy's hand, and everyone was relieved when the addled Slayer took it, smiled, and followed her sister to the stairs without protest. Spike watched them go, his heart in his throat. Halfway up, Buffy turned around and waved to him.

"Be good Will'em," she called. "We'll play soon!"

"I don't think so Buff," Xander said, still glaring at Spike. Seemed he had finally found his voice after Dawn's little sound-off. "Spike'll be leaving shortly."

Buffy laughed, and it was a disdainful, scornful thing that caused the boy to blanche white and Spike to smirk. "Silly, silly," she said, in the sing-song tone she'd picked up, wagging a finger at them all. "Will'em won't leave. He's the only one that never leaves." Dropping Spike another little wave of her fingers, she turned back around and flounced up the stairs after her sister, Tara right behind.

Spike waited until they were all three out of sight, until he heard Buffy's bedroom door close behind them. Then he turned on those who were left.

Sharp teeth slipped through as his eyes turned gold, and in that moment, Spike was the Big Bad again. It had been years since the Scoobies had seen anything of his true demonic side, but now all three of them faced a Master Vampire, one who had stalked thousands mercilessly through the night. "Outside," he snarled dangerously. "Now."


	12. Chapter 12

"What the bloody hell have you done!" Spike raged, as quietly as he possibly could, not wanting to alert the girls still inside the house. "What have you done!"

Willow and Xander quailed before him, their faces pale, eyes wide. Anya just stood with her arms hugging her torso, a sad look on her face and tears in her eyes.

"I knew this would happen," she whispered in a small voice. "I knew this was wrong."

"Then why the bloody hell didn't you stop them?" Spike snarled, turning on her. "You've been a demon for over a thousand years; don't tell me you haven't seen this happen before!

Anya began to weep, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Oh God, what did we do?" she whispered.

"We did the right thing Ahn!" Xander insisted, glaring at Spike while wrapping an arm around her shoulders. When she shrugged him off and took a step away from him, his voice lost its tone of certainty. "We did the right thing. We couldn't have known what would happen!"

"I should _kill_ you," Spike hissed. "All three of you. It would be no less than you deserve. I worked beside you _all_ summer! I kept you and this entire God-forsaken city safe, paid the bills, made sure the Bit was kept in food and clothes, and this _whole_ time you been plottin' and didn't tell me?!"

"Because it wasn't your decision!" Xander yelled.

He blanched when Spike began to laugh low in his throat, sharp white teeth flashing. "Oh that's rich," he said in a dark, quiet voice. "No, that's not the reason." Turning on a shaking Willow, he took two long, menacing steps forward, gliding over the porch like the master predator he was. "You didn't tell me… because you _knew_. You knew something could go wrong. Dammit Red! What the hell were you thinking? Thought you were smarter than that."

Willow's face darkened at his words, her eyes flashing. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"Means you weren't _good_ enough to do the soddin' spell! You _weren't_ strong enough, _didn't_ have the power, and _you_ fucked it up! This is _your_ fault!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he wondered if he had made a mistake. Lightning cracked overhead as thunder exploded, electricity filling the air around them as Willow's hair began to whip around her face, streaking black as her eyes went dark as pitch. Spike could feel the porch shaking under his boots and he knew in his bones that this girl was out of control.

"Be careful vampire," Willow boomed, her voice echoing off the house. "I'll show you just how much power I have!"

"Willow?" Tara's small voice broke the spell, the wind dying and Willow's normal color coming back. A look of fear crossed her face as she looked at the girl she loved, standing tentatively in the doorway with one foot on the step. "What is going on out here?"

"Just havin' a chat," Spike growled through gritted teeth. Backing away from Willow, he moved to Tara's side. "She get settled all right Glinda?" he asked, his voice much more gentle for the blonde witch.

"Yes, she's asleep with Dawn. We got her into some pajamas; I'll try to get her a shower tomorrow."

"Ta pet. Know you'll take good care of her." Looking back at Anya, Willow, and Xander, Spike felt himself go numb. "Gonna head out Glinda," he said, leaning in close to Tara. "Can't be here right now. Don't wanna do somethin' she wouldn't like."

Tara could see how much it pained him to leave; it was written all over his face as he stared up at the house where Buffy slept. Reaching out to him, she placed a hand in his forearm and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"It's ok Spike. She'd understand. Go. Get your head on straight. This will be hard on all of us, and we're going to need you. _She's _going to need you."

"I'll be back tomorrow afternoon," he said. "Get whatever we need to take care of this. There's… there's gotta be a way to fix her."

"We'll find it Spike," Tara promised. "She'll be alright."

He gave her a half-hearted smile, not nearly so sure. Glaring at the others one last time, he swept of the porch in a swirl of angry leather, dropping heavily onto the sidewalk. Storming away into the night, he turned back to bark one last order over his shoulder.

"Call the Watcher!"

* * *

Willow watched Spike go, furious with the vampire for blaming her. It wasn't her fault! She didn't know what had caused the Urn of Osiris to break, but it hadn't been her. She had collected the Fawn's blood, made her offering and survived her tests. Sure, Buffy was a little mixed up, but she could fix it. She knew she could.

"Xander, let's go," Anya said, breaking the silence as she walked down the porch steps towards the car.

"Ahn, we should…"

"Take. Me. Home."

Xander shot Willow an apologetic look, fumbling awkwardly with his keys. "Sorry Wills. So we should meet up tomorrow, head to the Magic Box and start the research?"

"Sure thing Xander."

Throwing up a hand in a wave, he jumped down the steps and ran towards his car where Anya sat, arms crossed, staring resolutely out the windshield as tears tracked silently down her face. Willow turned back to Tara, opening her mouth to speak, but finding herself unable to make a sound when she saw the look on Tara's face. The blonde shook her head sadly, her eyes bright with pain.

"I'm going to ch,ch,check on Dawn and Buffy," she said. "And then I'm going to s,s,sleep. In D,d,dawn's room."

"Tara!" Willow gasped, her throat tight. Reaching out a hand, she took a step towards the door, but Tara backed away.

"I think it's for the b,b,best. Tomorrow we'll call G,g,giles and start looking for a way to f,f,fix Buffy. Willow, I knew you were using too m,m,much magic and that you were hiding something from m,m,me but I never thought…"

Raising a hand to her mouth, Tara shook her head and backed inside the house, shutting the door quietly behind her and leaving Willow alone in the dark.

_'How has all of this gone so wrong?'_ she wondered, beginning to pace the length of the porch. What had happened? She'd done the spell correctly, she made the sacrifice and offered the blood, so what was affecting Buffy? Willow frowned, darkness and anger swirling up inside of her. This was Spike's fault. Stupid vampire, making accusations, throwing blame around, saying things that made… certain _people_ upset with certain _other_ people.

Glaring out into the night in the direction he had taken, Willow smirked. So, he thought she had no power did he? No strength? Well, she would just have to rectify that wouldn't she? Taking one last covert look around, she disappeared inside, locking the door behind her. A quick trip upstairs found her everything she needed, piled messily on the floor where it landed after Tara had apparently dumped out her drawers.

Willow felt a twinge at the sight of it. She hadn't meant to hurt Tara. Or to disappoint her. She was only trying to fix things. To make them better. Steeling herself against the pain that the thought of alienating her girlfriend brought her, Willow tiptoed across the hall to Dawn's room and peered through the crack in the door. Tara lay on her side facing away from her, the covers pulled all the way up to her chin. She appeared to be asleep, her shoulders moving in a gentle, steady rhythm, her feet twitching in that cute way that they did.

She thought Willow was using too much magic. Abusing her power. She would want her to stop. But she couldn't. Not now. She was doing this for them. To keep them all safe. Pulling the door shut silently, Willow let out the breath she had been holding and stole back down the stairs. Depositing her armful of supplies on the coffee table in the living room, she began the disinvite spell, unaware of the shadowy figure that crept to the top of the landing and watched with silent eyes, a sly smile tickling at the corners of her mouth.


	13. Chapter 13

Spike was lost. More so than he had ever been before. Even as William, that shy and confused human boy of so long ago, he had never been so frightened and unsure of his path. He needed a distraction. To unleash his tangled emotions with fists and fangs, to stop the vicious round and round of his brain with the stalk and the attack and the fury of punches that bruised and bloodied his knuckles.

But it was a stupid thing to do. To go looking for a fight in his condition. He was starved, weakened, and more shook up than he could ever remember being in his entire existence. He could've gone to Willy's and gotten plastered, could've gone to the hospital and swiped a few bags of B positive, could've just gone home and paced the stone floor of his crypt, but instead he'd gone back to the cemeteries, haunted the side alleys of the Hellmouth until he'd found what he was looking for.

For a while it worked. He beat down the fear and the uncertainty alongside the pair of demons he'd caught emerging from a human crack house; an oddity in Sunnydale to be sure, but not unheard of. It was a rough fight despite his being a Master Vampire, and exactly what he needed in that moment. Two against one, they were both bigger and more muscular than he, but he held his own until four of their friends joined them in the street. Then he found himself in serious trouble. Weaponless and without backup, he was beaten to within an inch of his undead life and left for whatever carnivorous thing next came along.

Lying on his back, for the time being unable to move, Spike reveled in the screaming agony that laced through his body. This he knew. He understood physical pain, what caused it and how he could fix it. Content to watch the colors exploding beneath his eyelids, his mind twirled lazily, unable to focus on anything but the searing ache that consumed him. When a familiar scent fell over him, sweeping up his shattered nose and setting his scattered mind into a tailspin until he placed it, he couldn't decide whether he was lucky or whether he'd rather just wait for the sun. It was the sudden thought of Dawn that the scent recalled, the thought of Buffy and how much the two sisters needed him, that forced him back into himself, driving away any vaguely suicidal apathy.

"Sir, if you can hear me, we need to get you inside," a voice sounded desperately in his ear. "The sun is almost up and you can't stay here."

Spike tried to respond but his mouth wouldn't work, his jaw dislocated and his throat crushed under someone's boot. His breath was wheezing in and out in a way that told him one of several broken ribs had pierced a lung, and every bit of his body trembled beneath the hesitant hands that gently flexed his legs, folding them at the knees and checking along his shins for breaks.

"My nest is not far from here Sir. If you can manage to help, even a little, we can get you there, but I cannot carry you myself."

Spike could only nod, sucking in a great gulp of air and pushing himself to his hands and knees, biting back a scream of agony. He hadn't been this close to death since Glory, and though he had sought the pain this time, was grateful for it even as he suffered, there was only so much his body could handle before it gave. Luckily for him, a pair of strong hands was there to pull him up, looping his arm over broad shoulders and hauling him on stumbling feet over the cracked sidewalk. Eyes swollen shut, he followed blindly, putting what diminutive trust he still had to give in the little Genthos demon he had only just met. He didn't really have a choice. This was perhaps one of the greatest mistakes he had ever made. The searing sensation that hummed on the back of his neck heralding sunrise mockingly agreed.

"Almost there Sir," the Genthos panted at his side.

They paused and Spike heard the creak of a heavy stone door, cool darkness falling over him as the demon hauled him inside. He would have collapsed right there, his body draped over the threshold, but the Genthos kept on, now their only source of motion as he dragged Spike's half-conscious weight across the floor, his hands fisted in the shoulders of his duster.

"Watch the leather," Spike mumbled incoherently, the words like glass in his throat.

He must have managed to force them out, because a half-stifled chuckle rumbled above him from inside a deep chest. To his eternal relief, his broken body was finally laid to rest over a wide, flat stone, not the most uncomfortable place he had ever lain. Off to his right he could hear the faintest _scritching _sounds, like leaves in autumn as they blew across the pavement. Spike's senses screamed as the presence of several demons stalked forward, no doubt the rest of the boy's nest. Reaching out, he clutched the Genthos' wrist in a crushing grip, a pained snarl rumbling out of his broken chest in warning. A calming touch on his shoulder had him releasing the boy, who moved away to head off the group that slowly stalked towards the injured vampire.

"Jhexel, what have you done?" a raspy voice questioned ominously.

"Roxis," Spike's Genthos began, his voice low to the ground as he presented himself prostrate before his clan master. "He requires our aid. If we are to ask…"

"Enough!"

Suddenly Spike's ears were filled with violent hisses and rattles, a vicious argument carried out in a language that even he didn't know. Then there was the sound of flesh striking flesh and the boy cried out, the wounded vampire snarling in vain with the abruptly protective urge that surged inside of him for the young male who had offered him asylum. The fight was over almost as soon as it began, a threatening silence filling up the air, until a dark voice rumbled out its decree,

"You have betrayed the orders of your Roxis and of your clan, Jhexel son of Mirin. From this day you are no longer welcome in this nest."

* * *

Dawn came awake slowly as the sun splashed across her face from between the curtains. For a moment she was confused, the quilt that covered her and the ceiling above her not her own. Then she remembered. Buffy. Buffy was alive! Rolling over, she almost fell out of the bed. Her sister sat cross legged atop the covers, watching her intently with head cocked, her silence terribly unnerving for the teenager.

"Umm, Buffy?" she asked, pushing back a bit.

She smiled widely at the sound of her name, clapping her hands and bouncing on the mattress. Dawn's heart fell. Apparently the good night's sleep in her own bed had not been the cure all she'd hoped it would be. Checking the alarm clock, Dawn decided not to wake Willow and Tara just yet, but to see if she couldn't get Buffy into the shower herself. Rummaging through the dresser, she found a pair of basketball shorts and an oversized t shirt at the very bottom. She had no idea where they had come from; perhaps they were Xander's, but she had no doubt that Buffy wouldn't be caught dead in the outfit. However, they would be easy to force her into, and that was enough for Dawn. Turning to find Buffy only inches away, watching her with a childlike curiosity and a smile that bordered on creepy, Dawn jumped and decided that she didn't feel _so_ bad about the clothes.

"So not liking the new you Buffy," she said sadly. "Wouldn't you rather be you again? You know, the annoying you that tells me to do my homework, and not to leave my dirty socks on the stairs?"

Buffy's only response was to giggle and pat the top of Dawn's head with one flat palm.

"Come on then," Dawn sighed, taking her hand and leading her across the hallway. "Let's get you cleaned up."

It was harder than she thought it would be. In the end she had to leave the curtain open because Buffy would panic when she pulled it closed, clawing at the material and fighting to get out. Eventually Dawn just climbed into the tub with her, scrubbing her down efficiently while Buffy happily popped the soap bubbles that clung to her skin. Making sure she had rinsed all the shampoo from Buffy's dark hair, she helped her out of the tub and wrapped her in a big fluffy towel, using three others to mop up that lake that had formed on the floor and to dry out her own hair. Then she picked up the clothes and prepared for her second battle.

"Come on Buffy," she said cajolingly, as though she were trying to catch a puppy who'd gotten hold of a shoe and knew enough to run the other way. "Let's get you dressed."

Buffy took one look at the big blue t-shirt in her sister's hands, the pocket on the chest proclaiming it menswear, and frowned deeply, shaking her head hard.

"Great," Dawn grumbled. "Kept your sense of fashion, but not your memory."

Shaking the shirt at Buffy like a bullfighter's cape, Dawn took one slow step forward. "Come on Buffy. You gotta get dressed. We're gonna go see Giles. Remember Giles? He's kinda like our dad. He's gonna be really happy to see you. Won't that be nice?"

Dawn lunged forward in an attempt to loop the short over her sister's head like a lasso, but Buffy dodged, giggling as she circled away. Dawn debated going to get Tara to help her, but she had the feeling that ganging up on Buffy wouldn't be of the good. The only person she'd probably take orders from was…

Dawn smiled with sudden inspiration. "Buffy," she wheedled, holding up the shirt. "Spi… erm, I mean, Will'em's coming to see you. Don't you want to get dressed up for him?"

"Will'em?" Her first word of the morning, the light in Buffy's eyes told Dawn she was on the right track.

"He's gonna be here soon," Dawn nodded, "But you can't go down and see him unless you get dressed. So put these clothes on ok?" Taking a slow step forward, she was rewarded by Buffy taking one as well, bringing them face to face. "That's it," she said softly, holding the shirt open and helping to guide Buffy's arms through the holes. "You'll look so nice for him!"

The baskeball shorts followed, slipping easily up Buffy's hips where Dawn pulled the drawstring tight and double-looped the knot. Underwear and a bra were not going to happen unless she got some help, and it would be best for everyone to avoid unfortunate accidents. Dressed well enough, she directed her sister down onto the lip of the tub and grabbed a hairbrush, attempting to pull it slowly through Buffy's tangled hair. The girl immediately fought against the tugging, reaching out to slap at Dawn's hands, but she quickly calmed her.

"It's ok," she shushed, holding the brush out for her to examine. Buffy reached out a forefinger and pushed at the springy bristles before sticking the finger into her mouth and sucking on it. "That's right,' Dawn cajoled. "Just gonna brush your hair, make it nice and pretty for Will'em." Easing her hand back up to Buffy's hair, this time she was allowed to continue, combing through the locks until every tangle was gone and her hair gleamed long and softly waving.

"There," Dawn said, satisfied with her results. Picking Buffy up, she guided her over to the mirror, where the two sisters stared at their side-by-side reflections for some time. "Good as new," Dawn whispered, a tear running silently down her cheek.

Turning, Buffy reached out and touched a finger to her cheek, smoothing away the saltwater. "Smile Dawnie," she said, her eyes suddenly clear and focused. "Don't be sad."

"Buffy?" Dawn asked, only half hopeful.

Hazel eyes went blank again, and the girl smiled. "Stuffy, fluffy, Buffy," she giggled.


	14. Chapter 14

"Luffy, muffy, spuffy, fluffy…"

"Dawnie?" Tara asked as she entered the kitchen, "Is everything all right?"

"She's been rhyming her name for the last twenty minutes," Dawn grumbled, looking down from her barstool. Buffy lay at her feet, flat on her back on the linoleum tracing patterns in the air with her finger while she hummed happily to herself. "I got her to shower, but when I brought her down here to eat she just flopped. She'd too heavy for me to pick up, and she…"

"She what?"

"She kinda growled at me when I tried to."

Tara's eyes went wide. Buffy had growled at them last night, but not at Dawn, and she had seemed to be calmer around them once Spike had 'introduced' them. As much as she wanted to believe that Buffy would never hurt them, she wasn't so sure that this new Buffy had that much understanding or control, and with her Slayer strength she could easily injure someone quite badly.

"Let's try not to pull her around," Tara said softly, placing a hand on Dawn's shoulder. "For now, if she doesn't like something, we'll avoid it. We don't want to hurt her, and we don't want her to hurt herself either. OK?"

"Well we can't just leave her on the floor," Dawn pointed out.

"Hmm. How did you get her to get dressed?"

"Uggg," Dawn grumbled. "It was a disaster. By the way, we're out of clean towels. And we _may_ have to replace the tile on the bathroom floor."

"She didn't take to it then?"

"Not at all. I had to fight her most of the way, but she let me do it eventually. It was easier when I mentioned…"

Dawn's eyes widened. It had worked once, why not again?

"Buffy," she smiled sweetly down at her sister, "Spike's coming remember? You need to eat your breakfast so he can visit."

Buffy stopped her rhyming long enough to frown at Dawn and shake her head.

"Oh. Yeah. Right. _Will'em's_ coming Buffy. Gotta eat your breakfast so he can come visit."

"Doesn't have to," Buffy pouted, crossing her arms over her chest like a child. If she'd been standing, she would have stamped her foot. "Visit anyway. Promised."

Dawn looked at Tara with a raised eyebrow. Was _she_ this bratty and obstinate? Buffy was acting like a kid having a temper tantrum, refusing to get off the floor. In that moment Dawn decided that it was time for her to grow up. Playing mom to her sister was already hard, and it had only been one morning. Was this how Buffy had felt before? Well she'd never have to deal with that again, not if Dawn had anything to say about it! It was time to grow up. She lived in a world of vampires and Slayers, of witches and demons. She might not be a key anymore, but she could at least be a mature adult.

"Come on Buffy," she coaxed, "Will'em wants us to take good care of you. We promised we would, remember? So you need to get up and eat breakfast ok? Then we can all go see Giles and figure out what to do next."

Buffy cocked her head to one side, considering, and then to Dawn's relief, climbed to her feet and sat down on the stool.

"Um, we _can_ go see Giles right?" Dawn asked Tara, taking a bowl down from the cupboard and placing it in front of her sister.

"I called him last night," Tara answered, watching as Buffy promptly turned her bowl on its side and set it spinning like a top, fascinated by the rounds it made across the counter. "He went straight to the airport. He said he'll be here by tonight, and he'll meet us at the Magic Box."

"Did he say…" Dawn stopped there, only sat the bowl back on its bottom and filled it up with Cheerios and milk, putting a spoon into Buffy's hand.

"He didn't want to speculate," Tara said softly. "But Dawnie, we'll figure this out."

"Blech!"

Both girls jumped, breaking their gaze away from each other to find Buffy spitting a mouthful of cereal back into her bowl.

"Bad, bad, bad!" She snapped, pushing the bowl away and jumping down from her seat. Sticking her fingertips into her mouth as though the bowl had burned them, she began to walk towards the front door. "Tastes like dirt, and dark, and grave," she garbled around her hand. Suddenly, she turned back around to face Dawn and Tara, who had risen to their feet. "Where's Will'em?" she demanded, her eyes going dark and deadly. "Locks changed, locked locks, and now he can't come back!"

"Buffy?"

The shaking girl whipped around to the stairs, where Willow had halfway descended, a bag of books at her side.

"Black witch," Buffy growled, her voice going low and nasty. "Breaking, breaking, always breaking. Broke the locks and broke the door, won't be much longer now." Blinking, hazel eyes went clear and empty. "Black broke the door, and the world will fall, and only white can catch it."

* * *

Spike choked, coughing and spluttering on the thick, bilious liquid being poured down his throat. It smelled like motor oil, and was going down about the same; still unable to see, he could only imagine that it was thick and black and shiny. He could sense the nervousness of the demon who held his shoulders; fear and apology came off of him in waves, but he held the glass resolutely to Spike's lips.

"Baxal blood," he said in a timid voice. "I know it's not… _right_ for the Slayer of Slayers, but it's stronger than human blood, and you need to heal. We cannot be here when my n… when the nest returns."

Spike felt his throat tighten, and this time it had nothing to do with the demon blood being forced down his pipes. Reaching up a hand, he found a shoulder and squeezed. He knew what it meant to lose a family, to be cast out of a nest, and it was in providing aid to him that this boy now felt that pain. "What's your name kid?" he asked in a raspy voice, his jaw still aching though the tingles of healing had begun to thrum throughout his body.

"I am Jhexel, son of…"

In the tense silence that reigned in that moment, Spike could _feel _ the Genthos fighting back tears of pain.

"My name is Jhexel."

Spike nodded, reaching out a shaking hand to take the glass of blood on his own power and force it down. If the only thing he could do in this moment to help the little Genthos now was vacate the premises, then he would do it. Just as soon as he could walk


	15. Chapter 15

Dawn spent the day trying to keep Buffy and Willow apart. The Slayer had eventually stopped muttering riddles under her breath and become openly hostile towards the redheaded girl she was once so close to, hissing and growling like an animal any time they were in the same room; sounds that made Dawn shiver. The teenager did her best to keep her sister distracted while still listening to the angry whispers that passed between the two witches in the kitchen, but it was a lot more difficult than she thought it would be.

Buffy paced the living room nervously, making a break for the front door several times. Dawn knew what she wanted; to go find Spike, but she doubted if Buffy knew where he was, and so would dart between her sister and the door, cutting her off. Buffy would frown at her and tell her she was bad, but would then waltz away again, spinning in circles with her arms outstretched. Dawn wanted Spike to come back too, and was hoping that he would agree to stay with them until Buffy was better, but for the time being she felt it was best to stay at Revello Drive. In only a few hours they would be heading for the Magic Box to meet Giles, and they would be that much closer to figuring this whole thing out.

Eventually she found something that held Buffy's attention; a small crystal humming bird that had belonged to their mom. Buffy had noticed it when the afternoon sun began to slant through the windows, hitting the glass just right to send a rainbow across the floor. Dropping hard to her knees, she traced her fingers through the colors that danced along the boards, looking up at Dawn with a wide smile.

"Pretty!" she declared. Reaching out, she grabbed Dawn's hand and pulled her down to the floor, pushing her hand into the lights. "Pretty!"

"Very pretty," Dawn agreed. Leaning back, she picked the glass bird up off the table and placed it into Buffy's cupped hands, where she cradled it carefully. "The glass bends the light," she explained, guiding Buffy to hold the crystal in the sun and turn it this way and that, throwing rainbows around the room. "It separates all the different lengths of light, and that makes the rainbow."

Buffy shook her head. "Pretty!"

Dawn laughed. "Yeah, you never were science-girl."

At that moment, Willow stormed through the living room and headed for the door. She didn't spare a glance for Dawn or Buffy, didn't flinch when the Slayer growled low under her breath, only wrenched the door open, stepped through, and slammed it behind her. Tara came quietly from the kitchen, her face somber, but the sight of the two girls kneeling close together on the floor with the glass bird had her smiling softly.

"Ready to head over to the Magic box?" she asked. "Giles should be here soon; his plane landed a half hour ago. Xander went to pick him up."

"Good," Dawn said. "Tara… I think Buffy's pretty mad at Willow."

Tara sighed, worry coloring her voice. "I know Dawnie. I think it's best if we keep them apart until we get this figured out. She's already left; she took my car, so we'll just walk, ok?"

"She took your car?" Dawn asked angrily.

Tara shrugged. "It's not important right now. I didn't think Buffy would be comfortable climbing into it, so I said we would walk."

Dawn stood, taking the bird gently from Buffy's hand. "You're probably right," she conceded. "I don't think she'd like that." Buffy stood up and smiled happily at the two of them, waiting patiently. "Just let me write a note for Spike and let him know we left."

Finding an old bill, one that she had no doubt Spike was responsible for paying, she scribbled a quick note on the back directing the vampire to the magic shop. Placing it on the center of the dining table, she weighted it down with the crystal humming bird, sure that he would notice it's strange new home. Meeting Buffy and Tara on the porch, she locked the door behind her, pleasantly surprised when Buffy took her hand, swinging their clasped fingers between them as they walked up the street, humming to herself while Tara watched.

"She seems happier than she was yesterday," the blonde commented quietly, watching as Buffy looked left and right, fascinated by the goings-on around her. A bird flew overhead and Buffy's hair whipped as she followed its path, dropping Dawn's hand to clap excitedly at the sight.

"Yeah," Dawn replied hesitantly. "For now…"

* * *

There was a snake in the pit of the Watcher's stomach. He was sure of it. Twisting, writhing, turning itself in knots.

As he stepped off the plane onto American soil once again, onto the Hellmouth, it was hard to find a spark of hope. When he had received the call from Tara, he had immediately panicked, a terrible wave of guilt crashing over him for leaving the group of youngsters alone; each of them essentially without parents for one reason or another, Dawn completely alone and devastated by her sister's death. They were all vulnerable to the demons that made this place their home, and he had never been comfortable leaving them with Spike. But he had. Hem-hawing for months, he had taken the coward's way out, leaving a note and slipping away without any more of a goodbye than that. And now to hear that his Slayer was back…

It was perhaps his greatest nightmare. To learn that she had been in a hell dimension, suffering so terribly when she deserved nothing less than peace, was devastating. To learn that she had been resurrected, only to be someone else entirely, her sanity in shreds… that was worse. His first reaction had been shock and disbelief; he could not believe that Willow would do something so dangerous, so stupid. Anger quickly followed. Then fear. From the moment he hung up the phone, the whole drive to the airport, the hours spent stewing on the trans-Atlantic flight, his mind spun itself in vicious circles, trying to remember every possible thing he had ever read or heard, desperate for that shred of optimism that he could not find.

Xander was waiting for him when he arrived. He had to admit, despite it all, that it was good to see the boy again. It had been less than two months, only a few weeks really, but it felt like much longer. He didn't expect the welcome he received. Having snuck away without word, he wasn't prepared to be pounced upon by the young man, wrapped into a crushing hug which, after only a moment's surprised hesitation, he fully returned. No words were spoken between them; the emotions that passed were enough, and they made the short trip to the magic shop in silence.

"They should all be here," Xander said steadily, his first words since Giles had arrived. "I don't… know how to prep you for this G-man. It's pretty crazy. Pun absolutely intended."

"Yes," Giles murmured, "I have no doubt it is."

Stepping from the car, he crossed to the door and placed his hand on the knob, but found himself unable to open it. Xander moved quietly behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder and giving it a comforting squeeze.

"It's good to have you back," he stated simply. "We're all glad. Well, I can't speak for the Buffster, but…"

"Yes, Xander thank you," Giles said gruffly, pleased with his words but disappointed with himself, that he so needed to hear them. Taking a steeling breath, he twisted the knob and pushed into the shop.

"Giles!"

He had to smile as Dawn engulfed him, all long hair and elbows, entirely unchanged from when he'd left. A glance around the shop showed him Tara, who smiled softly at him from her seat at the table, Anya, who stood behind the cash register looking a bit reserved, and Willow, who sat on the steps leading up to the restricted books, her face unreadable.

"It's good to see you again Giles," Tara spoke softly.

"Yes Giles, it is good to see you again," Anya smiled widely. "Please say you won't be taking the shop back now that you're here."

"Ahn," Xander hissed, "So not the time."

"I, I assure you Anya, I am _not_ here for that," Giles said, stepping back from Dawn. "Where is…"

"Over here," Dawn interrupted, taking his wrist in her hand and tugging him across the floor towards Tara. Pointing with one hand, she gestured to her sister, who was once again lying flat on her back, this time beneath the research table, her finger in the air tracing words only she could see as she rhymed her name contentedly to herself.

"Dear lord," Giles whispered. "Buffy!"

* * *

Spike had Jhexel helping him out of the cave as soon as twilight began to fall. The little Genthos had protested, assuring him that they had some small time before the nest returned for the night, time that would allow the sun to safely set, but Spike insisted. Though consistently choking down as much of the vile Baxal blood as he could stomach each hour rewarded him with his sight and the ability to move about without excruciating pain, he was still in no shape to fight, and after last night, the vampire owed a debt to the demon. The dark bruise and twin pinhole puncture marks on Jhexel's cheekbone beneath his eye gave voice to the price he had paid to help Spike, and while he might appear to be a young adult, Spike knew that in his time he was still young, a teenager without a family.

Neither of them said anything about duffel bag that the kid strapped to his back, about where he was going to end up now. Spike simply accepted his silent offer of help, slinging his arm around the demon's shoulders and letting him take some of his weight, staggering along the sidewalk on a knee that was still badly wrenched. He had shown remarkable courage thus far, going against his clan master's wishes to the point that he had effectively been disowned, but Spike doubted that even he had the stones to ask a master vampire for the kind of help he needed now. But if the kid ended up following him home at the end of the night like some kind of lost puppy, Spike sure as hell wasn't going to bitch about it. William the Bloody paid his debts, and if he were honest with himself, he liked the boy.

Bypassing his crypt, he directed them straight for the house on Revello Drive, nervous that he had left Buffy and Dawn alone with the witch for so long. Willow had proven without a doubt that her control over her magiks was questionable, and her judgment severely lacking. Spike had a sick feeling that the girl had way more power than any of them suspected, and that with this latest spell to resurrect Buffy, she had gotten a taste of something that would be next to impossible for her to resist. More than just wanting to check on his girls, he just wanted to see Buffy again. She might be a little mixed up right now, but he had lived five months without her, and that was enough.

She wasn't there.

The house was dark, silence echoing loudly from the inside. He knew it before he even hit the porch. Limping up the steps, he ran his fingers along the top of the frame, coming away with the spare key he knew the Bit kept taped there for those frequent occasions when she forgot her own. Unlocking the door, he pulled it open and took a strong step forward.

And fell flat on his ass.


	16. Chapter 16

Jhexel watched in terror as Spike raged and stormed, throwing his whole body against the barrier of the threshold like a battering ram. Clawing at the doorway, pounding against it with bloody fists, he snarled and screamed out all his vicious anger, cursing and roaring between harshly bared teeth. It was perhaps the most violent display the vampire had put on in years, ripping and slashing at the barricade as if it were alive, something that he could eviscerate and turn inside out. The little Genthos looked about fearfully, noticing the twitch of curtains in several windows, but this was Sunnydale. Here, good fences made good neighbors, and no one was stupid enough to confront such a nastily growling beast after dark.

Eventually Spike's energy ran out, the bone-deep ache of his injuries returning, spurred back to life by the self-induced battery. Turning his back to the barrier, he slumped against it, his body sliding down until he crumpled in a heap at the bottom of the door. His chest was heaving from his efforts, his breath coming in short pants, but he was quiet, and so Jhexel crept a bit closer from where he had retreated to the side of the porch. Sinking down a few feet from the exhausted vampire, he crossed his legs Indian style, clamping his hands tightly over his ankles. A moment of silence passed between them.

"Dammit!" Spike barked, shoving aggressively against the wood beneath him.

Jhexel flinched, turning his head to the side as if to avoid a blow and unintentionally giving Spike a good look at the darkly bruising bite mark under his eye. Scowling, the vampire ran a hand roughly through his hair.

"Not gonna hit you kid," he said, looking away up the street. "Just a little brassed off."

Damned Initiative and their soddin' hardware. What he wouldn't give for just one shot at that red-headed bint right now. Oh, he probably wouldn't kill her, not now that the height of his blood-lust had passed. Buffy wouldn't like it. Hell, he'd even thought the witch a bit of not half-bad himself once, but she was starting to run out of control. The Dark Magiks would have their hooks in her soon if they didn't already. He needed to head that shit off before it went really black. He needed to get hold of the Watcher.

"Watcher," Spike murmured. "The Magic Box!"

Jumping to his feet, Spike dropped down the porch steps and began to limp off up the sidewalk, Jhexel close behind. If Tara had gotten hold of the Watcher, he would've been on the first plane out. A quick bit of math put him back on American soil a few hours ago, and there wasn't a doubt in Spike's mind that the stuffy Brit would've gone directly for his resurrected charge. If they weren't all at the shop, he didn't know where they'd be.

A short time later they were halfway to the shop, and had come alongside the cemetery where so recently Buffy had been laid to rest when Spike felt a shiver trip over the back of his neck. The air hung heavy above them, sending an electric charge humming down his spine. He had always felt the pressure here, as though he were being pushed down to the earth in this place where his heart had been buried, but he had thought it would be different now. That with her resurrection, the darkness that cut into his bones here would have receded. Instead it was worse than ever.

Spike's boots slowed, bringing him to a stop in the middle of the cemetery, an icy cold anxiety settling in the pit of his stomach and making his eyes dart from headstone to headstone, looking for the source of his unease.

"You feel it?" Jhexel asked quietly at his side. "It's stronger now, almost like…" The demon went as pale as Spike, a feat given his dark complexion. "The wall," he breathed.

"What're you on about?" Spike asked, his eyes still digging into the shadows that shifted between the stones.

"The place where the walls are thinning," he said urgently, suddenly striding quickly away from Spike, who thought it best to follow on his heels. The Genthos lead him deeper into the cemetery, to the base of a rise where a crumbling mausoleum stood overlooking the tiny copse where Buffy had been interned. He stopped so abruptly that Spike crashed into him, almost knocking the smaller male over, but he didn't seem to notice. "We're too late," he breathed.

"Too late for what?" Spike snarled.

The Genthos only pointed, Spike's eyes following the line of his arm in the darkness to the crest of the hill where the crypt loomed silently.

"Oh bollocks!"

* * *

"Watch Man," Buffy trilled, rolling out from under the table and staring hard at Giles with suspicious eyes. "Black, black as pitch, ever darkening. Those who live, they sleep." Crouched low to the floor, she slunk around the edge of the shop, commanding all attention. "Those who live," she smiled, her voice going soft, its sing-song quality returning, "Do sleep. Troubled, tossing, groaning, dreaming of evil! Fearing life!" She snickered, looking up at her Watcher playfully. "Watch Man, do you see shadow? Moving on you like dark clouds. Are you overwhelmed by those living dead?"

"Does…" Giles began, his eyes wide and his voice quavering as he watched his Slayer cross her ankles and sink slowly to the floor, "Does she always speak in riddles? Rhymes?"

"That wasn't a riddle," Willow frowned.

Giles' gaze whipped away from Buffy, pinning the young woman against the wall. Willow gulped. She had meant to try and keep to the background, to stay quiet in the hopes that Giles would focus on Buffy and not her. She wasn't scared, it was just… well, she didn't know how he would react. But correcting him probably hadn't been the way to go.

"I,I,It's just, it's a poem," she stammered. "We studied it in school. It's… about the Boston tea party actually."

"Yeah, I remember that!" Xander said, snapping his fingers. "Miss Clark's English class right?"

He didn't actually remember, Willow knew; Miss Clark had taught Geometry. He was just trying to take some of the pressure away from her. She gave him a small smile.

"Does it have some meaning?" Giles asked, looking to Buffy as she went back to tracing letters with her finger, this time in the dust on the shop floor.

"Not much of what she says does," Dawn admitted, sitting down in a chair next to Tara. "Only when S…"

"We've been trying to figure out what might have caused it," Willow interrupted, cutting Dawn off before she could get the vampire's name out.

It had been stupid to revoke his invitation to the house; she knew that. Dawn or Tara would just invite him right back in, and they would all be furious with her for doing it, so she would simply have to be there to casually invite him back inside before anyone found out. Not that she wanted to. She had been angry, and still was. Spike had had no right to say the things he'd said to her. She was completely in control of her magic, and what business of his was it anyway?

Slowly, Giles, Xander, and Willow all approached the research table, coming together into a working whole once more, like magnets drawn into place to form a cohesive unit. Each took their seat at the table while Anya stood nervously by the register, watching the group with wary eyes. She felt displaced from them and she didn't know why, though as she looked at Buffy sitting on the floor, she imagined that part of it was guilt. Spike's words had hit home.

"We've been looking for some type of demon that could have affected the spell," Tara said with little conviction, edging her notebook towards Giles. She doubted that such was the case.

The older man looked down at the paper dumbly, his eyes blind to the neat script denoting the four possibilities that Tara had marked so far. His eyes kept darting back to his Slayer, who had gotten slowly to her feet and wandered over to the shelves, light fingers tracing over books, bottles, and artifacts carelessly. "I think it more important to examine the spell that was used first," he said, watching as Anya hurried over to Buffy, attempting to shoo her away from the merchandise.

"There was nothing wrong with the spell," Willow said resolutely, pulling a heavy book towards her. Looking up, she visibly cringed under the eyes of each of her friends; Dawn and Tara angry and disappointed, Anya astonished by her gall, Xander shocked and confused by her denial, and Giles clearly furious.

"It's quite obvious to all here that something has gone _very_ wrong with the spell," he said in a quiet, dangerous voice. He could feel the Ripper boiling up in him, pushing against his skin and threatening to break free. It whispered things to him; if anyone deserved the full wrath of his alter ego, it was the cocky, over-confidant girl before him. "You will tell me _exactly_ what spell you used, _exactly_ what items and artifacts, each and every step and the results that occurred. You will leave nothing out, and you will embellish nothing."

Willow quailed under his words, stilted and full of anger, her eyes filling with tears. "I, I thought you'd be happy," she whispered, her hands clutching at her book. "She's back. Isn't… isn't this better?"

"Is it?" he asked her harshly, turning in his chair to look at Buffy, who had clearly made of game of darting around the shop floor and picking things up off the shelves, giggling devilishly as Anya rushed around behind her and snatched them back.

The redhead's lip trembled as she watched her best friend. "It was just a standard resurrection spell," she said sadly.

"There's nothing standard about that magic Willow," Tara said, her voice hollow.

"Indeed," Giles seconded.

Dawn did her part by glaring at Willow on behalf of her sister.

"We got the urn of Osiris online," Willow began. "It was untainted. Everything was right. It all went the way it should've."

For the next ten minutes, Willow recounted everything she could to the best of her ability. Almost everything. She avoided the subject of her sacrifice, the viscous red that she had drawn across her face and that had tipped from the urn when the lightning had cracked overhead and everything had gone wrong. But as she continued to talk and continued to skirt around it, she could see Giles' countenance growing stony, could see the glint of the Ripper behind his eyes that the Scoobies had never really seen, and it frightened her.

"These spells require sacrifice Willow. Blood and death for life," Giles said harshly. Dawn expected him to continue, to yell at Willow and demand she tell him what was going on but he only waited. The redhead didn't last long under his glare.

"A fawn," she whispered. "I summoned it and used the blood for the sacrifice."

A collective intake of breath went up around the table as each reacted to this news, a horrible picture painted red in their minds eye. Silence reined.

"Xander!" Anya shrieked from behind them, shocking them all out of their awful musings, "Make her stop grabbing the merchandise!"

Buffy had found a baseball sized chunk of crystal and was refusing to give it back, shaking it hard before holding it out flat in her hand.

"Let her hold it!" Dawn demanded, finding her voice. "She's remembering earlier. We were making rainbows with some glass at home."

"Pretty!" Buffy commanded the stone, shaking it again.

"Fine!" Anya huffed, stalking over to slump down in a chair next to Xander. "But if she breaks it, she buys it!"

Dawn stuck her tongue out at Anya, but kept an eye on her sister anyways. She wasn't spending any money on some crummy piece of overpriced quartz. Buffy for her part was happily shaking the crystal and looking for the rainbows, beginning to hum something that sounded suspiciously like 'Buff the Magic Dragon' under her breath.

Willow might have warned them about that particular piece of crummy quartz had she been listening. Instead she had been trying to reach out to Tara, who had tears streaming down her face and was shaking her head in disbelief.

"Tara, baby," she whispered, "Please…"

She tried to cover Tara's hand with her own, but the distraught blonde jerked away. "You summoned it Willow?" she quavered. "You called it? A baby? Do you have any idea what effects betraying innocent blood like that can have?"

"But baby, I had to!" Willow cried, breaking down in sobs. "I didn't want to kill it! It was so soft, so sweet! But I had to! It was Buffy's life or the fawn's!"

Giles gave a sniffing sort of condescending chuckle, drawing the attention of everyone at the table. "You rank, arrogant, amateur," he said sadly, shaking his head. "All these years you've worked at her side, yet you know nothing of who she is. What she means to this world. What she risks." Standing from his seat, he towered over the frightened young woman, stabbing a finger across the room towards his Slayer, who was reaching out to hold her piece of crystal over a lit candle on the counter. "That girl is perhaps the most powerful mystical force on this earth! It is she who protects the balance of dark and light on this plane, and you try to buy her life with that of a mere animal?" Giles eyes flashed. "I doubt that even _your_ life," he glared at Willow, "That of a powerful young witch, would be considered sufficient payment. I expect that _that_… is directly the cause of Buffy's condition."

"Magic always has consequences," Anya intoned. "You get what you pay for."

Bang!

Dawn shrieked as a minor explosion threw the Scoobies from their chairs, the floor of the shop shaking as a blinding purple light burst from the crystal clenched in Buffy's fist. Where only a moment ago she had been humming away contentedly, holding the stone over the candle flame in order to cast the light through it, now her eyes were wide with fear. Throwing the stone to the floor, she scuttled backward as it shattered, purple smoke curling into the air as a thousand shining pieces were swept up into a dazzling tornado. Slowly the pieces began to take form, the glittering scales of dragon right there in the middle of the store. Rearing up, the creature unfurled great black wings and opened a mouth dripping with teeth that put a vampire's to shame, unleashing a screeching roar that tore at the ear drums.

The Scoobies scrambled to their feet, stunned by what they saw but still able to leap forward into unpracticed fighting stances; Xander pushing Anya behind him, Tara pushing Dawn down under the table as Giles leapt for the weapons chest near the stairs that he prayed was still kept stocked. Willow looked frantically for her addled friend through the acrid purple smoke and tumbling bits of ash, but couldn't find her.

And then suddenly, Buffy was there. Standing in front of them all, balanced on her feet, fists raised. Her eyes were cold and steady as she faced down the heavily armored reptile before her, the power of the Slayer evident in her stance.

"Dragon!" she shouted over her shoulder, as though they couldn't see. "Giles, dragon!"

* * *

**** The poem that Buffy butchers is called "Watchman, What of the Night?" It is written by and belongs to Theodore Kobernick, and is indeed about the Boston tea party. ****

**** _Puff_ the Magic Dragon was written by and belongs to Leonard Lipton and Peter Yarrow. ****

**** Of course all publicly recognized characters and quotes belong to Joss and Co.****

**I merely dabble with their brilliance.**


	17. Chapter 17

"That what I think it is?" Spike asked in the dark as he stared up the hill, knowing what the Genthos' answer would be but wishing that he didn't have to hear it.

In a twisted way he got that wish. Suddenly an explosion like a sonic boom rocked the earth under his boots, blasting him backwards to land in a tangled heap, completely deaf. Spike's hands flew to his ears as he hunched over his knees in pain, blood trickling out between his fingers. It took quite the bang to split a vampire's eardrums, but when he was finally in enough control of his pain to look up, it was as if nothing had happened at all. No stones knocked over, no debris from the detonation, no scorch marks in the grass… nothing.

Suddenly Spike came to his senses, and he immediately looked round for the boy. He didn't know too much about demon constitutions other than his own, but he was willing to bet the kid was hurt. Spinning completely away from the direction of the blast, he found the Genthos curled in a tight knot on his side, his hands over his ears and his face buried in his knees. Unthinking, he called out, but naturally got no reaction. Hell, he couldn't even hear his _own _voice. Spike walked to the boy's side and crouched down, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. The young man flinched, but his fetal rocking motion slowed, and slowly he managed to uncoil and lie flat on his back.

When he opened his eyes, Spike was surprised to find that his pupils had almost disappeared; narrowed to vicious vertical slits, chips of obsidian in his dark eyes. They threw green and orange light like the surface of a mirror, reflecting the colors that trickled down the hill behind them from the glowing portal, the tear in the fabric of the world flickering and swirling away like a carnival carousel from hell. Spike spun on his heel to look at the thing, a portal open to another dimension for any poor fool to wander across. Beside him, the boy managed to crawl to his feet, dark blue fluid running from his ears. Spike raised an eyebrow at him in question and he nodded, a gesture Spike took to mean that he'd live for now.

With great caution, the two advanced up the hill, each step closer carefully gauged, waiting for any sign that the portal was going to put out another explosion. When they were about halfway up the hill, Spike suddenly threw out an arm, his hand catching the Genthos in the chest to hold him back. He could see clearly now, the dimensional tear only about a foot long from top to bottom, a black void that shimmered and flickered in the dark. But he could feel something else, something making the hair on the back of his neck stand straight up, and as he called forth his demon to better see, something dropped from the portal and came barreling down the hill towards them.

"Shit," Spike snarled, though to his slowly healing ears it sounded a raspy whisper.

Loping quickly towards them came a four-legged Charnal demon, its eyes gleaming red in its boulder shaped head. The thing was small, and resembled a scaled, slimy dog of medium size, but Spike knew better. The slime that coated the creature would make all but the thickest of skins erupt in nasty boils, and its mouth contained row upon row of sharp teeth. It was something that Spike would avoid like the plague if he could, and now seemed like a pretty good time to run.

Grabbing hold of Jhexel's arm, he spun the boy around and pushed him forward, setting a grueling pace out of the cemetery. As they ran he could hear the little yips and snarls coming from the demon that chased them, its heavy feet pounding out a rhythm that reminded him of a heartbeat as he ran. It was close on their heels as they tore down the deserted street, Spike in the lead as he turned left, then right, darting down side alleys and dodging dumpsters, desperate to lose the thing as the not-quite-healed shards of bone in his knee grated against each other.

Suddenly the boy went down with a hiss, landing hard on his knees as he failed to clear the stack of shipping crates Spike had easily vaulted. Without thought, the vampire skidded to a halt and went back, something he would have never done only a few short years ago. Jerking him up roughly, Spike threw him forward towards a fire escape, ready to scale the thing if it meant getting away from the damn Charnal. Jhexel made it, grabbing hold of the steel ladder and pulling himself up, but Spike wasn't so lucky.

Needle-like teeth sank into his calf as the demon clamped down on him, shaking its head viciously like a terrier with a rat. Spike screamed as he felt his skin and muscle tear, the scent of smoldering denim reaching his nose as the creature's slime burned away his jeans. His whole body lurched as the thing tore at his leg, rocking him from side to side. He kicked out, trying to throw it off, but couldn't dislodge it. Reaching down, he felt frantically for the knife that he kept strapped inside his boot, thankfully the one free of demon teeth. Coming up with the thick blade, he braced himself with a grimace and drove the sharp dagger into the demon's chest.

Its dying screech was outmatched only by Spike's scream of pain as its blood gushed out over his wrist and palm, the same volatile slime that coated the outside of its body. His flesh sizzled and smoked for a moment before it simply began to fall away, eaten by the acid. Rolling away from the carcass, he scrabbled desperately in the dirt, trying to dig up enough gritty sand from the edge of the alley to cover the wound. Filled with bits of glass and debris, it did the trick, absorbing the acid and slowing the degradation of his flesh. Flopping onto his back with his forearm stuck up in the air, Spike panted for breath.

"Issss it dead?"

Jhexel's anxious voice sounded from somewhere above Spike, hissing in the dark. Iron creaked as he descended the ladder of the fire escape and dropped to the ground.

Spike groaned, crawling to his feet. His mauled leg quivered under his weight but it held, his jeans charred and flaking away. "God this has been the worst week," he muttered nastily.

"What wassss that?"

"Charnal demon," Spike rumbled, his voice low and guttural. "Got blood like battery acid. Burn right through you." Slipping out of his duster so that the sleeve wouldn't touch the angry red burns of his wrist, he looped it over his shoulder and started up the alley. "Come on kid," he called back. "Get outta this alley. Got some blood back at my crypt; we can both get some kip I heal up a bit."

"That thing came from the portal! Jhexel declared, hurrying to catch up. "A sssspell hassss opened thissss world to another."

"Yeah," Spike agreed. "Question is which…" He trailed off, understanding suddenly falling on him like a truck. "Buffy," he whispered, stopping in his tracks. Turning to Jhexel, he grabbed hold of his upper arm and shook, his eyes flashing amber. "A resurrection spell!" he barked. "It was a resurrection spell. They brought the Slayer back from the dead."

Jhexel quailed under the face of his anger, his own eyes contracting once more into reptilian slits. "They resurrected a Slayer? Don't they know what the balance…"

"Stupid, stupid witch!" Spike snarled, flinging himself away from the demon. "God, what have they done?"

"Resurrection,"Jhexel murmured quietly to himself, his fingers tracing his small beard in thought. "The Slayer." Suddenly his eyes flashed up to Spike, wide and fearful. "It's going to bring back everything she's ever killed!"

* * *

Back in the Magic Box, Giles and the Scoobies watched with awe as Buffy sprang into action. Having been tossed a short sword by her Watcher, she caught it out of the air effortlessly and gave it an experimental twirl before ducking out of the way of a lashing, spiked tail. The dragon screeched at her and spread its wings wide, trying to buffet her with their strong, powerful breadth, but she cartwheeled out of the way, her focus locked intently on the toothy maw that belched smoke and threatened flame. To see her move, to fall so easily into the fight, they had to wonder if there had ever been anything wrong with her at all.

Delving quickly back into the weapons chest, Giles passed off a crossbow to Xander and resurfaced with a second short sword for himself.

"Aim around the scales!" he shouted to the both of them over a roar, circling around the reptile as his Slayer swung at the beast's head. "The eyes, the wings, inside the mouth!"

"I'm not getting that close to its mouth!" Xander yelped back, circling around the opposite side.

Tara had herded Dawn and Anya up the stairs to the loft where restricted books were kept, hoping to keep them out of harm's way. Willow had followed, leaning out over the balcony to keep an eye on the battle below. As her hands gripped the railing in a white-knuckled embrace, her eyes flickered black. She could see better than the rest, could see more, the whole picture, and suddenly saw what they could not.

"Look out for the tail!" she shouted.

Xander heard her scream and managed to duck the wickedly sharp appendage as it flashed over his head, but Willow's cry had only managed to distract Buffy. Her sword falling carelessly to her side, she turned away from the monster in the direction of the witch's voice.

"Buffy!" Dawn cried. Her warning was in vain.

The tail came swiftly round and knocked into Buffy like a battering ram, throwing her across the shop like a rag doll where she collided with the wall, falling to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been severed. The impact seemed to jar something loose, because when she sat up and looked around, blinking wide eyes, there was no sign of the Slayer left. Faced with the deafening roar of a fanged, winged wyvern, she reacted the way any normal young woman might. She screamed.

Scrabbling backwards, she pressed herself as close to the wall as she could get throwing one arm up over her eyes and the other out in front of her, as if the simple gesture alone were enough to ward of an attack. Unfortunately that hand still held her short sword, which it promptly decided to release, sending it singing through the air straight towards Giles. The older man made a valiant attempt to leap out of the way, but he was just a bit too slow. With hot-edged precision, the blade sliced through the outside of his thigh, spraying blood in a graceful red arc, dropping him to the ground with a hoarse cry of pain.

Willow reacted instantaneously and without thought. Almost of their own volition, her hands rose, palms facing out and downward over the group below. She could feel power burning through her, like electricity tingling in her fingertips as white and blue light sparked from her palms. Her eyes like pitch, she pushed the magic out from her body, blasting it away from her core towards the fight.

"Galacio!" She shouted, the Latin that she didn't know flying off her tongue like home.

A crackling sound like shattering glass burst around them, the battle falling still as the dragon abruptly froze in place, its body jolting to a stop as a thick layer of rime enveloped it. Frost rippled along its powerful wings and tail, its thick neck and snarling mouth, a jacket of crisp white ice holding it immobile. Silence fell inside the shop, the only sounds Giles' agonized panting and Buffy's whimpers of fear. Xander looked in shock between Willow and the dragon, his eyes almost blank with the overload of emotion running through each of them in that moment. Breaking away, he crossed the shop to Giles's side, picked up the bloody sword, raised it high over his head, and brought it down over the dragon's neck.

The animal dissolved, bursting into a thousand chips of crystal and ice that tinkled to the floor, spraying out to the four corners of the shop. It was as though it had never been, reverting back into the clear, sparkling stone it had come from. Tara and Dawn barged past Willow and tripped down the stairs, the shards crunching like glass beneath their shoes as they ran across the floor in different directions; Tara to the injured Giles, Dawn to her trembling, weeping sister. The healer quickly stripped out of her cardigan, wadding it up and pressing it against the wound.

"We have to get you to a hospital," she said. "There's too much blood. You need stitches."

"Buffy," he gasped. "Is Buffy…"

Dawn was crouched down in front of her sister, rubbing her shoulders gently as she tried to calm the distraught girl. Looking back over her shoulder to Tara, she shook her head with tears in her eyes.

"She'll be all right," Tara said reassuringly, trying to get Giles to his feet. "Anya, go get Xander's car. Xander, help me get him up?"

As Xander and Tara pulled the bleeding Watcher to his feet and Anya ran for the door, Willow slowly descended the stairs. Her hands trembled as she came down off the high of the spell, her eyes flashing as they drained of shadow. Crossing over to the wall where the Slayer and her sister crouched, she stared down at them dully. Slowly, painfully, Giles limped past, arms slung around the shoulders of the two young people who supported him as he stared down at the broken girl at his feet.

"Don't leave her alone," he said quietly, his voice cracking. "She might hurt someone else."

"Giles she didn't mean it!" Dawn sobbed out, furious in her sister's defense, frightened and upset for her father-figure's injury. "I know she didn't mean it!"

"I believe that Dawn," Giles replied softly. "She would never hurt any of us intentionally. But she's not in control of herself right now, and with her strength and abilities…" Giles flinched as his leg gave a violently painful twinge. "She could be dangerous."

"We'll take her home," Willow finally spoke up. All eyes turned to her, but she didn't look back, her gaze fixed sadly on the still trembling Slayer. "We'll take her home and make sure she's safe."

Giles was momentarily silent, looking at her gravelly before he finally nodded. Xander and Tara watched the interaction between the two with trepidation but didn't interfere, helping the injured man limp out of the shop to the waiting car. The shop was quiet around the three girls, Dawn still stroking Buffy's hair gently in a calming motion.

"Come on Buffy," she whispered. "Let's go home."


	18. Chapter 18

It was harder getting her home than Willow thought it would be. Buffy was a broken down mess, crying silently but in an almost catatonic state of shock. The witch supposed it _would_ be something for a normal girl to handle, for a girl who wasn't the Slayer to wake up from a day dream and find herself face to face with a real live dragon. Any sane person might react the way that Buffy had reacted. But it was hard. This was the Hellmouth. She was the Slayer. Tonight hadn't exactly been that out of the ordinary.

As Dawn carefully guided her sister home, up the walk and into the house on Revello Drive, Willow frowned quietly in the dark. She was powerful, she knew that. She could feel the magic building inside of her, could feel the remains of the spell she'd used on the dragon still tingling in her fingertips. And she had brought back the Slayer, her greatest spell to date! That was saying something, a resurrection spell from someone as young as she was.

Willow followed the two girls upstairs, watching from the doorway as Dawn sat Buffy down on her bed, where the girl immediately pushed away, her back against the wall and her knees drawn up to her chest. So the spell hadn't gone perfectly. But it hadn't been her fault! Whatever had happened that night - all those eyes in the woods around them, the candles going out and the urn breaking - that hadn't been her! She had done her part.

Dawn tried to stroke Buffy's hair, but pulled away when her sister flinched back violently, her eyes wide with tears. Sighing, she whispered a goodnight to the terrified blonde and followed Willow out into the hall, where the older girl shut the door with an almost silent click.

"She'll be safe in there," Willow said quietly. "It's almost morning; we should all get some sleep. We can check on her in a few hours."

"I don't think I _can_ sleep," Dawn replied, heading back down the stairs. Slightly annoyed, Willow followed, down into the kitchen where the teenager took a seat at the island. "What happened tonight?" Dawn whispered.

Willow frowned and set about making hot cocoa. "I'm not sure Dawnie," she replied as she poured milk into a pot and mug and got it heating in the microwave. "It seemed like she was herself there for a minute, but when we distracted her…"

"When _I _distracted her," Dawn interrupted, her voice cracking a bit.

"It wasn't your fault Dawn," Willow replied adamantly. "It was like… like the real Buffy is in there, and for a minute she was driving, was in control and holding on to herself. But then she lost her grip, and the real Buffy slipped back into the backseat."

"So what do we do?" Dawn asked.

"I'm not sure." Willow pushed the mug of finished hot chocolate towards the teen, who looked inside and swirled it around a bit, but didn't drink. "I wonder if I could do a spell," she murmured, half to herself. "Something to pull the memories forward, to anchor her personality…"

"No," Dawn spoke up suddenly, her voice full of conviction. "I don't think that's a good idea."

Willow narrowed her eyes, opening her mouth to fight back, to tell Dawn that she was just a kid and didn't know anything about magic, but she cut her off.

"I don't think we should be doing any more magic on Buffy until we all figure out what's really going on with her." Dawn stood up and pushed her mug away. "In fact, I don't think you should do _any _more magic in the house until we figure this out. Ok Willow?"

Dawn didn't wait for an answer, just turned and walked away, climbing the stairs where Willow heard her door shut quietly. Her eyes flashing black, she grabbed Dawn's mug and dumped the contents down the sink. Feeling strangely more angry than she thought she should, she stalked up the stairs and went to her own room, closing the door loudly behind her. In an effort to calm herself, she took Amy from her cage in the corner and began to stroke the rat roughly, dropping her onto the bedspread when it did nothing to ease the nasty tingling inside of her. Beginning to pace with a hot frenetic energy, she didn't notice the small crackles of red, electric light dancing on her fingertips.

"I should be able to fix her," Willow snarled to herself. Looking over at Amy, who sat hunched in the middle of the bed, staring back at her inquisitively, she sneered. "Well, shouldn't I?" she demanded. "I mean, I brought her back! And the spell on that dragon? It was like, the words were just there! Just…"

Whipping around again, Willow's eyes went flat black, her hands rising as once again, the foreign words she didn't know came spilling off her tongue. Red and blue light flashed and swirled and suddenly where a rodent had sat there was a girl. As the magics faded Willow dropped her hands, shocked at the appearance of a face she hadn't seen in years.

"A, Amy?" she said tremulously.

Miraculously, the girl's screams didn't wake the house

* * *

It was a long night for Spike. After stumbling back to his crypt he had downed as many packets of blood as he could manage, until he felt nauseas and his stomach stretched uncomfortably, shrunken after starving himself for so long. But the faint, itching sensation that indicated healing had begun and so he took the tradeoff. The kid had curled up in his armchair while he'd been busy slurping down his supper and promptly fallen asleep, so Spike left him where he lay. It had been a rough night for him too. Conscious of the boy's demon nature, he had thrown his duster over him with a half-hearted grumble before tripping down the ladder to his bed.

Unfortunately for him, sleep was elusive, leaving him in a strange, half-conscious state that felt like floating, somewhere halfway between the ceiling and the floor. There he tossed and turned for hours, searching for something solid that would weigh him down into slumber but unable to find it, his entire body aching with pain and fatigue. Specters hung over him, hazy figures whispering in his ear, words that weren't quite words but still seemed dreadfully important. He felt sunrise come and then fade as the day wore on, but still could not seem to fall one way or the other out of his dream state.

It was late afternoon when he finally knocked himself out of it; quite literally too as he rolled just a bit too far and went toppling over the edge of the bed and onto the floor. Hissing, he touched a hand gingerly to the back of his head where it had connected with the stone before climbing stiffly to his feet. He was pleased to find that his leg took his weight well, his knee fully healed along with the acid burns on his wrist and calf from the Charnal demon. His ears felt all right too; indeed it seemed that last night's blood binge had done him a world of good. Oddly enough, the only injuries that had lingered were those on his hands, his knuckles still bruised and broken from where he had pummeled the barrier keeping him out of Buffy's house.

Spike frowned. Digging up an undamaged pair of jeans, he tugged them on along with a t-shirt and climbed up to the ground floor, intent on his refrigerator. The boy was still curled up in the armchair, just beginning to stir when Spike surfaced. He blinked groggily at the vampire as he crossed the floor of the crypt, running a hand roughly through his dark hair and down over his face. Climbing to his feet, he stretched from side to side before folding the duster neatly over the back of the chair.

"Sun's still up for about an hour," Spike commented, opening a jar of pig's blood even though the sight of the congealed red liquid made him want to gag. "Should go soak a little in while you can. Gotta make tracks soon's it's dark."

The boy looked at him curiously, as though surprised that Spike had assumed he would be staying. When the vampire didn't respond, only placed his jar into the ancient microwave and set it spinning, he nodded quietly and slipped outside, careful not to let in too much waning sunlight. Spike himself figured that if the kid wanted to scarper he'd just go, otherwise he didn't intend to bring living arrangements up. Getting kicked out of a nest was a painful thing, and unless the Genthos made to talk about it, he was going to stay well away from the subject.

Choking down his breakfast, Spike descended back into the lower level looking for his boots and a pack of cigarettes. He had a little time to kill before dusk had well enough settled, and he was feeling anxious, wanting to get back to the Summers house and check on Buffy and the Niblet. He was trying not to think about the witch and what she'd done to keep him out, trying not to get himself riled up again, and he figured the best way to do it would be to chain smoke for a bit. Returning topside once more, he shrugged into his duster and fished his Zippo from a pocket, lighting up before he'd even gotten to the door.

He stayed well back in the recess of the threshold once he was outside, just enough of a shadow thrown by the jamb that he would be safe. Working his way steadily through his cigarettes, crushing out the cherries with the toe of his boot as he finished each one, he thought about the Genthos demon he'd essentially taken in, the portal that had split the fabric of the world and threatened to bring back anything the Slayer had ever killed, but more so than anything else, he thought about Buffy.

Before she'd died… well their relationship hadn't been the greatest to say the least. He had confessed that he'd loved her, but she hadn't believed him, didn't think him capable of the emotion. He'd done some stupid things; tying her up and threatening her, getting involved with Dru again, not to mention Harmony. He'd gotten himself thrown out of her house – the only time she'd felt it necessary to do such a thing since that very first truce between them. And that had hurt. Hurt so much when he had bounced off that barrier, looked up with his face full of shock and pain to see her close the door in his face.

Angry with himself, Spike kicked viciously at the door of the crypt, rattling it on its hinges. He'd tried to make up for it. He had. And maybe he'd succeeded a fair bit, because in the end, just before… well, she'd invited him back hadn't she? Let him back in, shown him she had at least that much trust in him. Given over to him the care and responsibility of the Bit, her only real family, the one who meant the most to her. And he'd told her. Thank God he'd told her then, in what may have been the last chance he had.

She might never love him. But she treated him like a man.

And now…

Now what?

Spike scoffed at himself, at the tiny flickering of selfish hope he felt burning in his chest. He didn't know why Buffy had come back the way she was, didn't know why she was willing to let him hold her hands when she ran from all her friends. Didn't know why she called him by his Christian name or why she seemed to cling to him, to _believe _in him as she never had before. It was perhaps the harshest torture he had ever endured; to sample a taste of the thing he wanted most when it meant the least. And it would be cruel, would be _evil_ to want to hold on to that when it meant that the girl he loved was…

"Sir?"

Spike looked up from contemplating his boots, the Genthos demon standing cautiously a few feet away and looking at him with some small measure of concern. Heaving a sigh, he flicked the glowing ember of his last smoke away into the dark.

"Come on kid," he rumbled, glancing up at the darkened sky. "Time to move."


	19. Chapter 19

Spike thought something might be wrong as he approached the house on Revello Drive. Something in the air, something dark and quiet that made the warm glow of the windows seem almost sinister, like eyes watching in the night. Harris's car was at the curb, so he could safely assume that the full Scooby cavalcade would be present. There was a nasty whisper in him that wanted to catch the witch out, to expose what she'd done to the others. They all seems so oblivious the shadows dancing in the redhead's eyes, to the way she was so flippantly casting spells wither and nigh without thought for where they might land. They needed to be made to see, and so he hoped that she wouldn't be the one to answer the door when he knocked.

He could hear a sort of scrambling sound from the inside of the house as the banging of his fist on the wood echoed away, feet thundering down the stairs. The door was thrown open, smashing back on its hinges, and then he knew he was right. Something _was_ wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.

"Spike!" Dawn cried, throwing herself through the doorway into his arms. She hugged him tightly but quickly before latching onto his wrist and trying to haul him inside. When he hit the barrier he was wrenched from her grip, causing her to stumble. Turning on him with a tear streaked face, she put up a hand and waved it through the doorway, obviously confused by the absence of any invisible door keeping _her _out.

"Gonna have to invite me in Niblet," he murmured quietly, looking at her with still eyes. "Somebody changed the locks."

Suddenly Dawn's face darkened, the glint of tears abruptly becoming the hard glint of fury. "Willow," she said, her voice low and harsh through gritted teeth. Standing tall, she placed one hand on the edge of the door and pushed it wide. "Come in Spike," she said regally. "This is _my _house, and you're welcome here."

Spike immediately strode through the doorway and pulled the girl in close, his face pressed to her hair. His relief at having access to her and her sister once more was almost crippling, the fear he hadn't known was lurking in his chest shrugged away. Stepping back, he held Dawn at arms' length, ducking down slightly so he was on level with her, ready to ask what had happened, but Tara's voice sounded first.

"Willow, you revoked his invitation?"

Spike looked up to find himself with quite an audience, Willow and Tara standing at the base of the stairs, Anya halfway down and Xander at the very top. Another girl he didn't recognize stood against the wall, looking frightened as she clutched at her midsection. Willow didn't respond to her girlfriend, indeed she looked fairly lost for words. As Spike's blue gaze bore holes into her face, he could feel his anger flare, a snarl bubbling up out of his chest.

"What's the matter witch?" he hissed, "Didn't like hearing the truth, so you kicked it out?"

Willow's eyes flashed and she lips twisted nastily as she moved to speak, but suddenly Dawn was there, standing between them. "I told you no more magic in this house," she said dangerously. "I said no more. But you did it anyway. You changed back Amy and you locked Spike out… what next Willow? Are you still trying to do magic on Buffy? Is that why she's upstairs like…"

"Oh no! Willow didn't do that!" the girl near the wall cried. Amy, Spike presumed. "She's incredible, I mean like, _super _powerful, but she didn't do that. She was just gonna try and…"

"Amy!" Willow spat harshly, shutting the girl up mid-sentence.

Dawn sneered and shook her head. "Get out," she said quietly. The room fell dead silent as everyone stared at the teenager who had become a grown-up without any of them noticing, standing strong and proud in the middle of the hall. "Get out Willow," she said again, looking coldly at the witch whose face was filled with horror.

"But… Dawnie," Willow gasped, "You don't…"

"I said get out," Dawn repeated. "I told you no more spells. That what you were doing was dangerous. That we weren't doing _anything _else to Buffy until we knew _exactly_ what was already wrong. But you didn't listen. You didn't even care. And now…" Dawn's voice broke on a sob, but she pulled it together one more time. "I want you out of my house," she whispered.

Willow whirled away from the teen to face the woman at her side, reaching out to take her hands and tearing up when Tara took a step back. "Tara, baby. You know I can't leave. Not now. You, you need me. To help, to help fix…"

"No Willow," Tara said in a shaky voice. "Dawn's right. After everything that's happened, after everything last night…. After Buffy. And you're still planning to do spells on her?" Tara began backing away, shaking her head from side to side. "You should go."

Willow looked up the stairwell to her friend, her best friend for so many years, who she was sure wouldn't let her be thrown out like this, but he was looking down at her with something like fear on his face, and made no move to act or speak on her behalf. Willow felt her insides go like ice.

"Fine," she hissed, turning back to Dawn with black eyes. "But don't think this is over." Striding over to the entry way, she shoved past Spike and the Genthos demon who waited uncertainly on the porch just outside the door. "You'll come crawling back to me," she snarled, her voice harsh and angry though tears streaked down her cheeks. "Begging for my help! How are you gonna survive without your precious Slayer? I'm the strongest one you've got!" Willow caught her breath, a trembling sneer creeping over her face. "The strongest one you _had_."

On that last ominous word, she turned and marched down the sidewalk into the night, Amy darting after her and following closely on her heels.

* * *

"What have we done?"

Tara's whisper broke the silence that had fallen over the group like a shroud, a chill breeze swirling in through the door that had hung open for what seemed like an eternity since the angry witch had stalked out. Spike's eye was drawn away from the rattled blonde who'd sunk onto the bottom stair with her head in her hands, his gaze caught by the shiver that trembled down over the Genthos demon as he shifted nervously on the porch. Stepping in to Dawn's side, he ducked his head close to his ear.

"Need to invite the kid in Niblet," he murmured quietly.

Dawn jumped a bit, looking round to the door with wide eyes. "Is he a…" She looked back at Spike nervously. "Is he a vampire? I mean, he can't get in either?"

"Not a vampire Bit," Spike replied. "But he won't come inside without your leave. You're head of house here, and you didn't give him permission when you let me in."

Dawn's trust in Spike showed then if it hadn't before, as she moved towards the door and issued an invitation to someone, _some thing_, that she had never met, breaking the rules she'd had drilled into her by her Slayer sister. She took it in stride that his word on the kid was enough, and welcomed him inside with a coy sort of shyness that had Spike narrowing his eyes.

"Um, you can come inside too," she said softly. The Genthos dipped his head in a nodding bow, his hand twisting over his chest as he stepped inside. The movement triggered Dawn's memory as she closed the door and locked it, the deadbolt shooting home with an oddly echoing thud. This was the boy from the Bronze.

Spike had moved to crouch in front of Tara, taking her hands gently in his as he tried to calm the girl. "Where's the Watcher Glinda?" he asked gently.

"The hospital," Tara replied woodenly. "At the Magic Box last night. Buffy had a crystal in her hand. Summoned a dragon." Her hands tightened on his, crushing his fingers. "Spike, she was _her_!" Tara said emphatically. "It… it didn't last, but she was _her_. It was like she'd… like she'd never left."

Tara's eyes filled with tears and Spike spoke around the knot that had grown in his throat. "But?" he asked.

"It didn't last," Tara whispered. "She just… fell out of it. Started screaming, crying. She threw her sword, cut Giles. Willow froze the dragon with a spell and Xander killed it."

Spike looked up the stairs at the carpenter and nodded, a nod that was returned almost without thought, giving credence to how shaken the boy was.

Suddenly Tara's hand flashed out and fisted tightly in the sleeve of Spike's duster. "She shouldn't have known that spell Spike," she hissed. "There's no way she should have been able to pull that spell, to channel it. She wasn't using the magic – it was using her."

Spike cursed under his breath. "How long's the Watcher in hospital?" he asked.

"He can come home tomorrow."

Spike nodded. "All right," he said, getting to his feet and pulling Tara with him. "Glinda," he began, wary of what he was about to say, "Do you… do you think your girl's losin' it?"

"The d,d,dark magics are in her," Tara wept, fear shining in her eyes. "I think, I t,t,think they've gotten hold of her. I think she m, be addicted, that they're taking her over."

Spike grimaced. He'd been afraid of this. "Do you think she might try somethin' on us? You, Buffy, the Bit? A curse, or a hex? Anything that might…"

"I don't know. Last night, when I got back… she w,w,was talking to Amy about d,d,doing a spell on Buffy. "I told her n,no, but now…"

"Where is she?" Spike ground out. So much time had passed since he'd walked across the threshold into the Summers house, and the whole time the hair on the back of his neck had been standing straight up, demanding her find out what had happened, where his girl was.

"She's upstairs," Dawn answered, stepping up beside him. "Spike," she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Spike, something's wrong. She's… she's worse."

The dread in the girl's voice, the note of pure panic, had Spike vaulting the stairs three at a time, skirting Xander and Anya and blasting down the hallway to Buffy's room. At the door he stopped dead, abruptly overwhelmed with the terrible fear of what he was to find on the other side. His hand went to the knob and he wondered briefly as to why the door was shut at all, the brass cold on his fingertips. Swallowing hard, he twisted the handle and pushed quietly inside.

His heart fell.


	20. Chapter 20

**The song Spike sings to Buffy is called Dead Man's Hands and belongs to Jerry Sword. I thinks it's a gorgeous song and I highly recommend that you open up YouTube while reading! Enhance the experience!**

* * *

As Spike stepped slowly into the bedroom he was struck by a terrible sense of claustrophobia, though surely not half as bad as Buffy must've felt in the stuffy, darkened room. The window was sealed shut, the curtains drawn, and the air was stifling to him; hot, stale, and still. And there, in the center of the bed, pushed back hard against the headboard with her arms wrapped around her knees, was Buffy. There certainly, sitting solid before him, but she wasn't really there. Her eyes were dead.

Walking over to the bed, he knelt before her, a tentative hand reaching out to trace the side of her face. He expected her to start, to flinch from his touch, but she didn't move, not a flicker of her gaze, not quiver of her soft skin under his fingertips.

"Buffy?" he breathed. Nothing.

He felt the others crowding into the doorway behind him, heard Dawn's voice telling him that she'd been this way for hours; they unable to get any type of reaction from her, but it was like the girl was underwater, a hush falling over him as his world contracted to discard anything but the one before him.

"What did you do?" he croaked. "What did you let her do?"

"You… I mean, Willow…"

He could hear the hurt in Dawn's voice but couldn't seem to care. What had they done to his beautiful, vibrant, sunshine girl?

Spike felt a snarl crawl up out of his throat, half angry with them, half with himself. Not his girl. Wasn't fair that way.

"Willow said she would be safe," Dawn sobbed quietly. "She said she would be safe in here."

"Hey, we didn't know this would happen Spike," Xander's voice suddenly sounded, too loud in the quiet of the room. He had stepped forward to place his hands on Dawn's shoulders, trying to comfort the weeping girl. "We didn't know she'd go all… catatonic girl on us."

"You stupid, stupid git!" Spike hissed, spinning around to face the boy. "You took a girl who'd just been trapped inside her own coffin and locked her inside a small dark room; no light, no noise, no explanation. What the hell did you think would happen?!"

Xander's face went white with the implication of Spike's words. They hadn't thought, hadn't considered that something so simple, being put inside her bedroom, could so affect the distraught Slayer. Anya was shaking her head sadly, retreating downstairs and away from the others. Tara stepped forward and placed her hand on Xander's shoulder, pulling him gently back.

"Xander, let's go downstairs… we'll let Spike sit with her for a few minutes."

"I don't think that's a great idea Tara…" Xander began, immediately picking up his old, derisive tone. "Buffy's not exactly capable of taking care of herself right now."

"And Spike's not exactly capable of hurting her, is he?" Dawn demanded. "Even if he could, he wouldn't hurt her." Dawn looked sadly over at her sister. "And if he can help her…"

"We've all tried already Dawnie," Xander said. "Everything we know. Why would…"

"Dawn's right," Tara interrupted. "People affect each other in different ways. Different voices can go further than others. Spike might be able to get through to her."

Xander frowned but still turned to leave, sending a death glare back over his shoulder. Dawn followed but Tara lingered when Spike caught her eye. "I'm nothin' special Glinda," he said in a rough voice. "I don't know what to do here. I don't… I don't know how to help her. I spent a hundred years with Dru, and I couldn't ever…"

"Just talk to her Spike," Tara said softly when his voice broke. "I wasn't lying before. She's retreated into herself; your voice might be the one that can reach her."

Spike nodded solemnly, his eyes on the floor, turning away to ease back down onto the mattress in front of the girl who hadn't moved or made a sound in all the time he'd been in the room.

"And you're wrong Spike," Tara's voice said softly behind him. "You _are _something special. You wouldn't be here if you weren't. I believe that."

Spike didn't respond, couldn't respond, only waited until he heard her leave and close the door quietly behind herself before reaching out to brush a lock of hair from Buffy's face. The fleeting thought crossed his mind that he would never be able to touch her like this if she were herself, to simply reach out and stroke her silken cheek with his fingertips.

"I don't blame you, you know," he said quietly in the dark. "I want to get away from it all sometimes too. After a hundred years who wouldn't? Can't stand the lot of your Scoobies most days. But Buffy you've gotta come back now. You can't stay there. We need you. Dawn needs you, and Tara needs you. Xander, and the demon girl, and even the witch. They all need you Buffy."

Buffy didn't react, her heartbeat a slow, steady drum that thudded away like meaningless music.

"Buffy, I…" Spike paused, dropping his head as emotion surged inside his hollow chest. "_I_ need you," he whispered. Tears stung his eyes, blurring her in front of him as he tried desperately to find some spark of her in her still hazel eyes. "Please," he sobbed, his voice breathy and full of tears. "God, Buffy, please. Come back to me. I can't lose you again."

Dropping his head to her knees, he wept softly, rocking his head back and forth, his body wracked with the emotional pain of his loss. Eventually his tears slowed, the denim beneath his cheek damp. Raising red-rimmed eyes to the blank stare of the girl before him, the girl whose deaf ears hadn't registered his pleas, who hadn't moved since he had entered the darkened bedroom, he once again reached out a trembling hand and gently cupped her cheek. From the blackness that threatened to swallow him up came a sudden memory; the beginnings of a gentle refrain hummed softly under his breath.

"_I still feel you here my darling. I can hear your sweet voice calling, but I can't stay here forever; so I'll love you while I can. These words I'm writing to you are with a dead man's hands._

"_Some would say it's all for nothing, but I know there must be something. On across the way, you better get out while you can; don't waste your time looking back, on a dead man's hands._

"_Fly away on some glad morning. I can feel my end, it's calling; and I don't know if there's a heaven, but I'll do everything I can, to ease your broken down heart with a dead man's hands._"

As he sang in a quiet and tender voice, Buffy slowly began to show small signs of life, the pace of her heart picking up the tiniest bit, her pupils contracting, her body beginning to tremble. Taking her hands in his, Spike squeezed gently, urging her back into herself and praying that it was his voice guiding her now.

"That's it Buffy," he whispered. "Come back to me."

The trembling intensified, her entire body shaking as though wracked with chills. She began to rock back and forth on the bed, her knees curled tightly to her chest as she shuddered. Her breaths began to come in heavy pants until she was heaving in great lungfuls of air, sobbing harshly, tears pouring down her face. Not knowing what else to do, Spike grabbed her face with both hands and pressed his lips to hers; a sweet and tender kiss that had her stilling beneath his touch. He wasn't sure which of them he'd done it for, if it had been a selfish or a selfless act, but for just a second, with her soft, warm mouth beneath his, he believed. Thought that maybe, _maybe_…

Pulling back, he almost drowned in wide and fearful eyes.

"W, W, Will'em?" Buffy tremored on a broken whisper. Reaching out a quivering hand towards him, she touched her fingertips to the side of his face, the mirror image of his own gesture. Spike couldn't help but turn into her touch, nuzzling into her warm palm as his own hand came up to press hers to his cheek. Blinking slowly once, twice, Buffy's eyes began to focus, ricocheting around the dim room.

"That's it Buffy," Spike said, hope lighting in his words. "Talk to me. Say something."

"Is… is this hell?"


	21. Chapter 21

Jhexel waited nervously at the foot of the stairs, staring up as though trying to force Spike to appear by sheer will, occasionally darting uncomfortable glances at the five ranged out around the living room. Xander and Tara were sitting on the couch, their heads together as they spoke quietly, pain evident in their voices. Xander's hand went out to clasp hers, fingers twisting together tightly against their loss. Dawn was pacing nervously along the length of the coffee table, her eyes restless as her gaze bounced between her feet and the landing above, sneaking one or two looks at the handsome boy in the hall. Her cheeks were pink – it didn't seem right to be crushing on him when her sister was upstairs in some kind of waking coma. But she just couldn't bear to sit with the quiet blonde witch that she had found such a friend in, not when she and Xander talked of Willow instead of Buffy, Willow, who had so endangered her sister with her wanton and careless magic.

"Dawn."

The teen's head jerked up, drawn by Anya's low voice. The ex-demon was sitting alone in a chair, watching the boy closely. She gesture Dawn over, speaking quietly without taking her eyes from the boy. "You should invite him in here," she said. "He won't intrude without permission. Ask his name. It will show him he's welcome, give him leave to talk to you."

Dawn's eyebrows lowered, surprised by Anya's helpfulness. Usually she was just blunt and kind of annoying, but this, this was her actually doing something nice. Dawn thought perhaps she was just doing it out of solidarity, connecting with the guy because he was a demon, but she guessed that it didn't really matter. She was grateful for the advice. Giving her a smile of thanks, she moved slowly into the entry-way.

The boy took a nervous step back towards the wall when he saw her coming, ducking his head low and looking down at the floor. Dawn stopped a few paces away, rubbing one arm nervously. She'd only spoken a handful of words to this guy, but there was just something about him... Another pang hit her somewhere in the vicinity of her heart – how unfair that she would choose now to get a crush, now, when things could be going so well but were going so badly. Remembering her decision to take up some responsibility, to be the grown up that she was, she pushed her urge to giggle girlishly and steeled her shoulders.

"Um, you can come in and sit with us… if you want," she said. She was disappointed when he didn't look up, didn't move, didn't react to her at all. Then she remembered what Anya had said. "What's your name?" she asked.

That seemed to do the trick. His head jerked up and he stared at her for a minute, his eyes dark - almost black. "My name is Jhexel miss," he said, his voice low and rumbly like Spike's was when he was mad.

"Jhexel? Cool," she smiled. "Kinda like pretzel, only with a J. Or… chex-el. Or…"

"Miss?"

Dawn blushed furiously. "Sorry. Um… I, I'm just worried about my sister, you know?"

"The Slayer," he said softly.

Dawn nodded, a tear slipping free. "She… she's not doing so good? And… and you know I just got her back and…"

It was clear that she was making him very uncomfortable from the way he was leaning back on his heels, getting as far away from her as he could without backing up again, looking nervously between the upper stairwell and her trembling lower lip, his hands fisting and relaxing at his sides, until she sucked it up and swiped away her tears, shaking her head.

"Sorry," she laughed nervously, a note of hysteria in her voice. "I'm Dawn."

"That's a nice name," he said politely.

"Thanks," she replied. "I like yours too. Listen…" she watched with concern as the boy went back to staring up at the landing, "Why don't you come sit down? It might be a little while."

"Yes miss."

"You can call me Dawn," she said, turning to head towards the kitchen, walking slowly to make sure that he followed. "Really, it's fine." Anya sent her a smile as she passed by her chair, and it reassured her. Leading Jhexel into the kitchen, she indicated one of the stools at the island, waiting for him to sit before she went to the pantry and started to rummage around. "So, you're Spike's friend?" she asked over her shoulder.

"Um… I don't know. I, I'm not sure."

"Yeah," Dawn sympathized, "He can be like that. Are you hungry?" She shook a crinkly bag at him, pulling a bowl down from the cabinet.

"What are they?" he asked, raising an eyebrow at the bag.

"Oh, God, I'm sorry," she said, one hand going to her mouth. "I mean, you _can _eat people food right?"

"I _can_, yes."

"Sorry, I didn't even think…" Dawn shook her head at her carelessness, opening the bag and filling up the bowl before setting it on the counter in front of him. "These are the pretzels I was talking about; the ones that sounded like your name? I guess I got so used to Spike eating people food, I didn't even think that maybe you didn't like it."

"But _you_ like them?" he asked, picking one out of the bowl and twirling it between slim fingers, a black stone ring flashing on his thumb.

"Yeah, they're pretty good," she answered, taking a handful for herself. "Crunchy, salty…"

"Like scorpions?"

Dawn looked up with a quirked half-smile, almost laughing. "I guess," she chuckled.

And Jhexel grinned. Because just for a second, he had made this pretty girl with her sorrowful eyes smile.

* * *

Six blocks away, Willow finally broke.

Dropping to her knees on the curb, she let out a heart-rending scream and began to sob like a child. Her entire body was wracked with pain, her chest heaving with the effort of drawing breath between her cries. Her world was in ruins, utter desolation, and she had never felt so lost. Everything was gone; her best friends, her home, the girl she loved.

On some small level, she knew. Knew that it was her fault. Knew that she had caused herself this devastating pain. But there was a part of her too that was angry. If she had made a mistake it was in good faith, with the best of intentions. Who were they to berate her for that choice? It had brought Buffy back to them after all.

Suddenly she became aware of a hand on her shoulder; Amy, standing close at her side. For some reason she was repulsed by the other witch's touch and shrugged her off roughly, climbing to her feet and knuckling her eyes, scrubbing dirty tracks from her cheeks. Taking a shaky breath, she looked around the deserted street, trying to get her bearings. Finding herself alone, a hysterical little laugh bubbled out between her lips.

"Nowhere to go," she giggled frantically.

There was a moment of utter silence, and then Amy spoke.

"I know a place."

* * *

"Oh God," Spike whispered, cupping Buffy's face between his hands and brushing his thumbs over her cheekbones. "No sweetheart. No, you're here. You're right here, with me. We're right here." Desperate to dispel her fears, to relieve the vicious, slicing pain that laced its way through his chest, he pressed his lips to her forehead in a chaste and gentle kiss before pulling back, looking her straight in the eye. "You're not in hell baby. You're right here. Right here with me."

With a speed that surprised him after so many moments of deathly stillness, Buffy launched herself at him, burrowing into his chest and burying her face in his t-shirt, weeping quietly. Spike took her into his lap without hesitation, his arms banding tight around her small, shaking form, rocking her gently as she cried, murmuring nonsense in a low, quiet voice.

"Please," Buffy gasped, "Please Will'em. Don't let me go. Don't let me go back there."

"Never luv," he promised, his nose in her hair. "Never gonna let you go again."

It took an eternity, a lifetime for her to fall still in his arms, for her shaking to stop and her tears to slow, but he cherished every moment. Such violent, painful emotion was real, was true and living and bloody, and it was beautiful. To see her awake, aware, _alive_…

Spike smoothed her hair back from her temple, smiling down at her as she slowly began to pull herself together. She pushed herself upright and he let her break from him, though he wanted nothing more in that moment than to pull her closer. She seemed suddenly unsure of herself, suddenly shy, her eyes glued to the coverlet beneath her, unwilling to look at him. It might have cut him, if it hadn't been for the last twenty minutes of holding her.

But that didn't mean he knew what to do know.

For a minute they both sat side by side, staring down at their hands in their laps. Twice he started to speak but couldn't bring himself to break the silence. And then he couldn't bear it another second.

"Guess I should go let the Scoobies know you're awake," he said quietly. She didn't reply, so he pushed reluctantly from the bed, getting less than two steps away when a hand flashed out and caught his, holding him fast.

"Don't," Buffy pleaded, looking up at him with wide, fearful eyes. "Don't leave."

"Got to pet," he said apologetically. "Dawn at least deserves to know." He squeezed her fingers gently. "She's scared for you."

"Please Will'em," she begged him in a small, scared voice. "Please don't leave me."

"Not gonna leave you pet. I promise, yeah? Not gonna let you go till you say so. But we gotta tell your sister." He tugged gently for the release of his hand, but she only clung tighter. "Hey," he murmured, crouching down in front of her and cupping her cheek. "We'll go together yeah?"

Buffy stared up at him, eyes burning, and nodded her head, rising silently to her feet. Spike smiled softly and chucked her gently on the chin, then guided her towards the door, pleased when she followed compliantly behind him. Stepping out of the darkness of the tight little bedroom and into the brightly lit hallway, they descended the stairs hand in hand.


End file.
